


Stranded

by imafriendlydalek



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Political Animals
Genre: Airports, And so is Steve, Angst, Angst and Porn, Canon Divergence - Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Canon Divergence - Iron Man 3, Canon Divergence - Post-Avengers (2012), Comfort/Angst, Developing Relationship, First Meetings, Hook-Up, Identity Porn, M/M, One Night Stands, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Steve Rogers and the 21st Century, TJ is such a ball of angst, Where Was Clint Barton During Captain America 2?, ever wonder where Steve was during Iron Man 3? Now you know, one-night-stand becomes many-night-stand
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-09-08 23:49:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 56,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8868013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imafriendlydalek/pseuds/imafriendlydalek
Summary: TJ and Steve. Two strangers, unaware of the other's full identity, snowed in for a one-night stand. It was supposed to be easy. Complication-free.But when has that ever worked for either of them?They meet again, and their attraction is as undeniable as their mutual fame. With the Mandarin making trouble and neither looking to make waves, complicated is all they've got left. Is it enough?





	1. Chicago

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Unclaimed Baggage](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5493488) by [imafriendlydalek](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imafriendlydalek/pseuds/imafriendlydalek). 



> This was *supposed* to be a remix of my Winteriron "we met at baggage claim" fic, [Unclaimed Baggage](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5493488) just with different characters, and then plot happened. This picks up just after the Avengers, as Steve is finishing his post-Battle of NY road trip, and at some point after-ish the events of Political Animals. It's canon divergent in that TJ has been clean for about half a year, but I've largely ignored the events of the last few episodes. TJ's mom is Secretary of State, the president was *not* killed in a plane crash, the veep is still a dick. More will happen there down the line ;-)
> 
> Many thanks go out to fitz_y, who is a beautiful enabler (and awesome beta!) and encouraged me to keep going with this. At least 85% of the angst is her fault, and this fic is about 12 times better than it would have been without her advice and nudges. Thanks also to OrbingArrow for beta-reading!
> 
> This is probably going to be pretty long as we cover the events of IM3 and, eventually, CA:TWS. Buckle up, it's gonna be a bumpy ride!

“Ugh, fuck my _life_.”

“We’ll leave that to one of your Grindr acquaintances,” Douglas replies dryly. His voice sounds tinny, as if the cellphone connection is cutting out. “What now?”

TJ stares at the screen overhead in disbelief, where the words CANCELLED blink in ominous red letters next to every single outbound flight. “Looks like I’m stuck here.”

“Shit, sorry Teege.”

“Yeah. Thanks,” he mumbles, then ends the call and pockets his phone. He kicks out in frustration but stops just before his foot connects with the base of the baggage carousel. No sense in adding injury to insult. Or property damage. He’s been trying so hard to stay out of the headlines, after all.

That’s when he looks up and sees that hot blond guy he’d noticed as he was getting off the plane standing a few yards away. With his hands shoved deep into his pockets, the guy is obviously also waiting for his luggage and clearly as enthused about the cancelled flights as TJ is.

Huh, TJ thinks. Maybe he needs someone to cheer him up. Blowjobs always help with that.

The hot blond looks up just then and catches TJ looking. TJ’s long learned to fight fire with fire, so he smirks and winks at the guy. 

He’s played this game many times before. Make a flirty face, wait half a minute for the guy to recognize him as the former First Son, then another half a minute to come over.

Except this guy doesn’t come over. Which means he either doesn’t recognize TJ (if that’s the case, what the hell giant rock has this dude been living under?!) or isn’t into dudes. Which would be a crying shame, because boy, what a delicious specimen.

TJ sighs and resigns himself to a night spent unwillingly in Chicago, and alone. He fires off a quick message to Trina, the family’s assistant, for her to make arrangements at his usual hotel, then turns his attention to the baggage claim carousel, which has begun lazily spitting out bags.

It’s times like these he really misses Air Force One, TJ muses, as bag after bag trundles past him. The time in the White House had pretty much sucked for him, but there had been a _few_ perks. Like not having to claim his own baggage and not getting stranded far from his destination.

Finally he spots his bag bumping its way slowly towards him and steps forward to collect it. His fingers have just closed around the handle when he feels a hand on his forearm.

“Excuse me,” a male voice beside him says.

TJ bristles at the unsolicited touch. He’s used to people coming up to him, still gets recognized often enough even though he tries to stay out of the press these days, but it isn’t often that people literally reach out to him. When it does happen, well, those are the rare moments he actually misses his Secret Service detail. 

“Excuse _you_ -,” TJ starts, but the words trail off as he turns his head and sees the hot blond looking down to him. TJ stands up a bit straighter. “Hi,” he drawls flirtatiously.

They're almost the same height, but boy, Blondie certainly has a few pounds of muscle on him more than TJ. He wouldn't mind getting a closer look at that.

The guy seems to shrink back when their eyes meet. There was recognition there, but not the kind TJ is used to. The hand is quickly pulled back from TJ’s arm.

“Sorry,” the guy says. “You just look like someone I …” He lets the sentence trail off, then he seems to tuck away what he was about to say.

TJ purposely doesn’t push it. He’s not in the mood to get swamped by people right now, which is what inevitably happens when one person recognizes him. 

“I think you have my bag.”

TJ is so busy worrying about getting mobbed that he doesn’t process the guy’s words at first. “Hmm?”

“The bag. I think it’s mine.” He gestures towards the leather satchel in TJ’s hand and finally TJ makes the connection. 

“Oh. The bag,” he says, then cringes at his own words. He looks down at it. In hindsight, yeah, this isn’t actually his bag. “Shit, sorry. Guess I was too anxious to get the fuck out of here.”

TJ sends out his best “not-so-subtle invitation to join me” look as he hands the bag over and he could swear he catches a glimmer of temptation in the guy’s eye before it gets fought down. Alas, one of those guys, TJ thinks and curses his incorrigible attraction to “straight” guys, the ones that won't admit how much they actually do want to come join TJ. 

“I know that feeling,” the guy says as he shoulders his bag (as if it weighed nothing, TJ notes, and now he wants even more to take a closer look at those muscles). There’s sadness in his tone, like he’s looking for something he’s lost, and TJ finds himself wanting to learn what it is.

“Well, get home safe.”

“Thanks,” TJ replies. He wants to add that the guy is welcome to join him, or that home isn't here, or at least that the guy should also get home safe, but the guy is gone before he can get the words out, disappeared into the crowd.

Well, that was that, TJ figures, and he turns his attention back to the baggage carousel. He finally manages to locate his bag – and it’s actually his this time – and heads out to where the driver Trina has arranged for is waiting. The driver takes his bag and leads the way towards where the car is. The wind is bitterly cold, and TJ pulls the collar of his jacket up to block out the chill air. 

The snow is coming down heavily. TJ has always liked the way it crunches under his feet, though it’s not eliciting quite the same feelings of joy that it usually does. Probably because it’s only mid-November and he’d been in LA, where it had been comfortably warm, and he’s definitely not dressed for a blizzard.

Neither is Blondie, TJ notes when he spots him waiting in the outrageously long line by the taxi stand. There are at least 20 people ahead of him and no taxis in sight, and the guy looks utterly miserable. 

“Hey Ray, I need to go talk to someone,” TJ tells the driver. “Meet me over there?”

The driver acknowledges the instruction with a nod, and TJ makes his way over to where Blondie is waiting.

“Hey,” he starts.

Blondie eyes him as if he’s not sure why TJ is talking to him. “Hi again.”

“No taxis, huh?”

Blondie shakes his head. “Guess everyone’s looking for a cab tonight.”

He’s shivering and his ears are red from the cold.

“I’ve got a towncar,” TJ says, pointing vaguely in the direction of the car. “Could give you a lift if you want.”

The guy opens his mouth and TJ can tell he’s about to decline the offer, so TJ cuts him off before he gets the chance. “It’ll be forever before you make it out of here if you wait in this line.”

That seems to strike the right chord, since the guy closes his mouth again, tilts his head as if considering the offer and then nods. “That’s awful kind of you.”

TJ can’t help but grin. “Least I can do. Come on.” He gestures behind him, where Ray is just pulling up. Ray moves to get out to open the door but TJ waves him away, pulling the door open himself so Blondie can get in.

The guy looks instantly less miserable once they’re in the warm car.

“Where are you headed?” TJ asks.

Blondie shrugs. “Don’t really know, actually. Figured I’d just ask the cab driver to drop me off at a hotel.”

“Well, I’ve got a room at the Langham. Only place in town worth staying at,” he adds.

“Alright,” the guy says. His demeanor softens a bit, and TJ could almost swear he detects a smile. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“You ever been to Chicago before?”

He tilts his head. “A looooong time ago. Didn’t get to see much of the city, and it’s probably changed a lot since then.”

“It’s a nice city, when it isn’t covered in snow. The pizza sucks, though. Don’t let anyone try to tell you otherwise.”

That earns him an amused smile from Blondie, and TJ catches himself smiling in return. There’s an underlying despondency in the guy’s demeanor, something TJ’s grandmother has accused him of exhibiting as well, and TJ finds himself drawn to it, wanting to find out the cause.

And wanting to ease that sadness, if even just for a night.

“I’ll be sure to steer clear of it.”

It takes forever to get there with the snow and traffic, so they have plenty of time to chat in the car. Blondie’s name is actually Steve, it turns out. He’s from Brooklyn and recently got out of the Army, though that’s about all the personal information TJ manages to gather. Steve doesn’t seem to be particularly forthcoming about that sort of thing, which is fine because it means TJ doesn’t have to share much about himself either and he’s kind of enjoying that Steve doesn’t seem to know who he is.

Finally the car pulls up at the entrance to the hotel. Steve looks up at the tower in awe.

And he’s right to do so. It’s an impressive building, all glass and steel, which is why TJ chooses to stay here when he’s in town rather than one of the hipper hotels.

“Wow, this is …” Steve’s voice trails off. “Very modern,” he finally finishes.

“Pretty sleek, huh?”

“Yeah. Sleek.”

TJ smiles to himself and turns to go inside. He’s enjoying the look of wonder in Steve’s eyes, but it’s fucking cold.

“Come on, let’s get inside. It’s freezing out here.”

Steve nods in agreement and gestures for TJ to lead the way. TJ can’t help but smile at the way Steve looks up, turning on his own axis to take in everything, from the gleaming marble tiles and floor-to-ceiling windows to the glass baubles suspended from the ceiling that seem to mirror the icicles outside, as they walk through the massive open foyer. 

“There’s a reservation for me,” TJ says as he slides his driver’s license across the reception counter. The receptionist’s eyes snap up as soon as she reads the name on the ID.

“Of course, Mr. Hammond. It’s an honor to have you staying with us again.”

Steve has a slightly confused look but still doesn’t seem to make the connection.

He’s either really dense or woefully uninformed about politics, TJ thinks.

The receptionist passes TJ the keycard to his room, but TJ decides to wait for Steve to check in before heading up. Steve seems to have warmed to him, and if TJ plays it right, he might have a chance after all.

“I’m sorry, sir, I’m afraid we’re completely booked for the night,” the receptionist informs him.

Steve’s face crumples. “Oh well, is there another hotel nearby?”

“There’s a Best Western a few blocks from here, but they’re full as well. Just about every hotel in the area is. Lots of stranded travelers,” she adds with a sympathetic smile.

TJ shifts his weight to his other leg. This is probably a terrible idea. “Hey, listen. There’ll be plenty of room for two in my room, if you want. Better than spending the night back in the airport. You can hit me with a pillow if I snore too loud.”

Steve’s face brightens somewhat. “Really? Are you sure?” he asks hesitantly.

“Sure. Promise I won’t try anything,” TJ adds with a wink.

Steve doesn’t react to that, as if he doesn’t get what TJ is referring to. Okay, maybe he really is just that out of touch with politics and pop culture. Well, at least he’s not a raging homophobe.

He looks out the floor-to-ceiling windows of the lobby, seems to be considering the snow piling up outside. “Alright,” he says with a nod. “I really appreciate it.”

“Hey, no problem. Wasn’t about to make you sleep out on the street. Come on.” 

***

TJ gestures towards the elevators and Steve follows wordlessly. By the time they get into the elevator, conversation has completely dried up. It’s not like Steve isn’t incredibly grateful to TJ for offering to share his room – Steve couldn’t have handled the idea of having to spend the night at the cold airport. It’s just a little odd, the idea of sharing a room with a complete stranger. He’s not even sure if it feels more strange because said stranger is a man. Probably not, actually, since he wouldn’t have taken up the offer from a lady. It’s a different world these days, but there are certain things Steve isn’t quite ready to give up on yet, and respecting a lady’s privacy is one of them.

Whatever it is that’s bothering Steve becomes even more pronounced when they get to the room. Well, room is an understatement; it looks like a palace. The thought that TJ must be incredibly wealthy crosses Steve’s mind as he looks around. There’s an open sitting area with two plush sofas and a leather armchair as well as a desk and a minibar. A wide archway separates the living room from the bedroom, and here’s where the problem becomes evident: There’s only one bed. Granted, it’s one of those massive landscapes of a mattress – “kingsize,” they call them – but still the fact remains: two men, one bed.

“I can sleep on the floor,” Steve offers quickly. He’s shared sleeping space with men before, of course, but that was in the Army, when huddling to keep in body heat was a genuine necessity, when sleeping back to back was for safety, when the choice had been sleep here or march all day tomorrow on no rest. This is very, very different.

“Don’t be si – you don’t have to. I’m fine with sharing if you are. Really.”

“I’ve slept in a lot worse places than a soft carpet,” Steve says with a shrug.

“Well, suit yourself. You change your mind, offer still stands.”

Steve acknowledges the offer with a nod of his head and puts down his bag. The carpet does feel impossibly soft under his feet, and maybe sleeping on a floor will help him actually, well, sleep. Since he woke up in that SHIELD facility in New York half a year and half a lifetime ago, a good night’s sleep has evaded him. He’s managed to get a few hours here and there but hardly anything one could consider restful. As first he thought it was the newness of this century, but that’s worn off a bit – nothing like fighting aliens and flying battleships and watching a teammate in a flying suit of armor take a nuclear bomb through a portal in space to get you caught up on new realities. He’s spent the last few months traveling the country, getting a feel for what he’s missed, and it’s helped him come to grips with his new life, but sleep still evades him most nights. No matter where he is, whether it’s the apartment SHIELD put him up in or a fancy hotel or a cheap roadside motel, the mattress just never feels right, and some nights he wakes up in a cold sweat, convinced the mattress is going to close up around him and swallow him whole.

Like the ice had.

The thought jars him and he stops. He looks down at his hands and realizes he’s just unpacked his whole bag on autopilot, that minutes have gone by and he’s completely ignored the other man in the room. 

“I really appreciate this–”

“You wanna get a–”

They both start at the same time, then stop. They catch each other’s gaze and hold it, an awkward moment of “who should talk first?” passing between them.

TJ is the one to break it. “You wanna go down and grab some food?”

Steve allows himself to relax and even manages a bit of a smile. “That sounds great. I’m starving.”

***

Things had been awkward when they had gotten to the room. Steve had seemed to zone out when he’d seen the bed, had unpacked his bag in silence, leaving TJ to wonder what was going on. It’s hard to get a read on Steve – there’s definitely something he’s thinking through, and he goes from hot to cold in seconds sometimes.

For all the awkwardness in the room, things are much better over dinner at the hotel’s restaurant. They have a great conversation, they make each other laugh, and TJ swears he can even detect a hint of flirting coming from Steve as he polishes off the rest of TJ’s tagliatelle al salmone. He hadn’t been kidding about being hungry – guy must have eaten enough for a family of four. With teenagers.

“Shit, I wish I could eat like that and still look like you do,” TJ remarks with a teasing smile. He’s two drinks in and feeling bold.

Steve shrugs. “I got a pretty quick metabolism.”

“Lucky bastard.” TJ winks as he says it, and Steve’s ears turn deliciously red.

“So, Steve, tell me. What brings you to Chicago?”

“Just on my way home. I was doing a, uh, a road trip? I guess that’s what they’re called. Just kind of touring the country, seeing the sights. On my motorcycle at first, but then it got cold for that, so I decided to fly back.”

“Did you find what you were looking for?”

Steve looks up from the pool of sauce he's been poking at with his fork. “Pardon?”

It was a guess, but looks like it was right. “Road trips for the sake of adventure are something you do after high school. Guys our age, you go out on a road trip, it’s not cuz you want to see Old Faithful and the Grand Canyon, it’s cuz you’re looking for something within yourself.”

Steve frowns for a second, then seems to brush it off. He gives a one-shoulder shrug before he replies. “Never could afford it before. Plus the country’s changed a lot while I was gone.”

“How long did you serve?” 

Steve considers the question for a moment. “A long time. I, uh, it took them a while to find me.”

“Shit, were you captured?”

Steve’s face crumples at the question, so TJ back-pedals quickly. “Sorry, I’m prying. You don’t have to answer that. Let’s talk about something else, how ‘bout?”

“Yeah, okay. You want another drink?” Steve nods at TJ’s empty glass.

“Why Steven,” TJ drawls flirtatiously, “are you trying to get me drunk?”

Steve laughs. “Don’t think I have to try. You did that all yourself.”

“Hey now, I’ve only had two drinks, and you’ve had just as many as me. How’re you not tipsy?”

“Like I said,” he shrugs, “quick metabolism.”

Fuck. Steve is incredibly hot, ridiculously nice and deliciously witty, and TJ wants him in his bed in terrible ways. 

“If I have another, you might have to carry me back to the room.”

Steve cocks his head to the side as he eyes TJ. “I could manage that,” he says casually. “You don’t look too heavy.”

Fuuuck. The thought is more than TJ can handle in his slightly inebriated state. Screw it, he decides. Enough dancing around the white elephant. “Golly, Steven, are you flirting with me?”

A blush creeps up the back of Steve’s neck, and he ducks his head before looking up at TJ again, his eyes stunningly blue and definitely twinkling a little. “I just try to be helpful.”

TJ pushes out his leg to brush his knee against Steve’s. “I could think of some things I could use help with.”

Steve barks out a laugh, raising an eyebrow at TJ, who joins in the laughter. 

“Sorry,” he manages, “that was pretty bad.”

“Yeah it was,” Steve says. He pushes the now empty plate away from himself. “Shall we head up?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” TJ drawls as he moves to get up.

Steve is half out of his seat already and seems to be eyeing TJ. He straightens, apparently considering something, but then just lets out a quiet “hmm” and heads out of the hotel’s restaurant.

“What is it?” TJ asks.

“What’s what?”

“What were you about to say?”

They’ve reached the elevators and Steve mashes the button a little harder than necessary. Something’s changed in him, and TJ regrets having asked.

“Nothing. Well, just – you remind me of someone I used to know.”

“Oh.” TJ feels his heart plummet. He turns his gaze to the little blinking number that shows which floor the elevator is on and suddenly wants to be very, very far away.

“TJ?” Steve asks, concern in his voice. “Are you okay?”

God, why is this elevator so slow?!

“Yeah, I’m fine,” TJ replies finally. The floor display finally reads 1 and the doors open with a ding. TJ slips in, leaning his head back against the far wall. “Was he an old boyfriend?”

“Oh. Uh, no.” Steve’s reply is hesitant, and when TJ opens one eye to peek at him, his gaze is trained on the floor. “Nothing like that. He was my best friend, actually. He was always flirting with everyone too – well, with all the dames. Ladies. He wasn’t ... just ladies. You, uh, you look just like him.”

Well, isn’t that just peachy. So TJ looks just like some guy who used to be Steve’s straight best friend. A few years ago, he would have been willing to play the gay replacement, but he’s trying to turn over a new leaf and give the whole “having a sense of self-worth” thing a whirl, so that prospect doesn’t quite hold the same allure anymore.

“Sorry I can’t be that guy for you,” TJ mumbles.

Steve turns to face TJ. In the tight space of the elevator, with Steve’s considerable frame, there isn’t much space left between them. 

TJ feels like he can’t breathe properly.

“Geez, TJ, don’t – that’s not – I don’t want you to be him. I don’t want you to be anyone but yourself.”

There it goes, all the air sucked out of TJ’s lungs. He feels light-headed. Only then does it register that they’re not moving, that neither of them has pressed the button to make the elevator go up. Steve is _so close_.

“Steve,” he manages.

Steve meets his gaze, his eyes a clear blue in the fluorescent light of the elevator.

“You have to push the button to make the elevator go up, Steve.”

Steve lets out a huff, half laugh and half sigh, as he turns to push the button. The elevator starts its ascent almost immediately, and this time the ride up feels a lot quicker than it had earlier.

They step out of the elevator wordlessly; TJ swipes his key card and gestures for Steve to enter.

Steve reaches out as TJ comes into the room after him, fingers closing around TJ’s wrist. “TJ,” he says, his tone serious. TJ can see why people would follow Steve into battle with a voice like that. “When I said you remind me of him, I meant – well, it’s a compliment?”

There’s such lost innocence in Steve’s eyes that TJ can’t help but believe him. He gives Steve’s hand a squeeze before reaching up with the other to run his fingers through Steve’s hair, combing it back into place – a careful part like that needs to be kept neat.

“Well then, thanks. You want another drink, now that you won’t have to carry me up here?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“What happened with him, your friend that I look like?” TJ asks as he heads towards the minibar.

“Hm?”

“You said he _was_ your best friend. How come he isn’t anymore?”

Steve turns away, rubbing a hand over his face. A few moments pass before he replies, and when he does, his voice is quieter. “He fell.”

That’s what TJ gets for prying. Dammit. He holds out the glass with whiskey for Steve to take. “Shit, Steve, I’m sorry. I thought maybe you’d had a fight or something.”

“No,” Steve says, his voice almost a whisper. “Sure, we argued plentya times growing up, but it never could have been serious enough to end a friendship over. He was like a brother to me.”

“I’m sorry,” is all TJ can come up with. His tone is earnest, though, and Steve seems to appreciate it since he turns to face TJ again.

“Thanks. It was wartime. I guess that’s the risk we all take, putting our lives on the line for our country.” Steve accepts the drink and knocks it back in one long gulp. 

TJ can’t help but watch the way his throat moves as he swallows, the line of his neck long and so very, very kissable. TJ tries to shake the thought – it’s hard to get a read on Steve, to figure out if he’s up for anything, and this hardly seems like the moment to push it.

Steve must have caught him looking, though, since he stops momentarily in his motion of lowering his arm with the glass again and looks up at TJ from under his eyelashes. A mischievous smile crosses his lips – god, those lips …

“Something on your mind, TJ?”

Fuck it. “Yeah,” TJ breathes as he surges towards Steve, and Steve must be thinking the same thing because they crash together, meeting halfway in a rather awkward kiss/smoosh.

Steve’s lips are just as soft as TJ had imagined, it turns out.

Just as quickly as it began, it’s over. Steve’s forehead is just barely pressed against TJ’s, and TJ smiles into the touch.

“Sorry,” he says, “I’m usually way better at that.”

“Oh yeah?” Steve asks, his smile all mischief. “Prove it.”

Well, TJ’s certainly not going to pass up a challenge like that. He reaches up to run his hand through Steve’s hair, slipping it around to cup the back of Steve’s head as he pulls him down again – Steve is just a bit taller than he is, and it’s doing wild things to TJ’s ego. He finds he likes having to lean up, likes the way Steve’s body pushes against his, the way Steve moves his lips with TJ’s, the taste of Steve’s mouth.

Steve returns the kiss eagerly, if maybe a bit fumbly at first, and they lose themselves to the moment. It seems like hours and also like mere seconds when they pull apart again, and TJ misses the contact immediately.

A hint of red is creeping up Steve’s neck, a delicious blush, as he stoops and rubs at the back of his head. “Alright, point taken,” he admits with a smile.

TJ lets his fingers trail down Steve’s spine. Even through the sweater, it’s still obvious how muscular his back must be. He gives the hem of the sweater a quick tug and Steve pulls back, meeting TJ’s gaze with a question in his eyes.

TJ’s not sure what Steve was looking for, but he must have found it because he steps away just far enough to tug his sweater over his head.

“Holy shiiiiiiit.” The words escape TJ and he doesn’t even realize he’s reaching a hand out to touch Steve’s _ridiculously massive_ pectoral until he’s already done it.

Steve chuckles softly but doesn’t otherwise react.

“Bet you get that a lot, you lucky jerk,” TJ says.

Steve shrugs. “Yeah. It’s not luck, though. I didn’t always look like this.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” TJ says as he runs his hand over Steve’s abdomen. “Hard work, lots of lifting, discipline …”

“A little more than that,” Steve returns before reaching out to cup TJ’s face in his hands and hold it as he places a soft, chaste – way too fucking chaste – kiss on TJ’s lips.

TJ slides his hands around Steve’s waist, over his ass, to pull him closer as he deepens the kiss. _Good_ , he thinks when he feels Steve’s hardening dick press against his hip, a quiet groan escaping Steve. _He’s clearly into this as much as you are._

This is what TJ knows. Feelings and dealing with the past, those aren’t exactly his forte, but this, fucking, drowning whatever is going on in physical delights (or at least trying to), he knows this. Knows what to do, how to proceed.

He moves his hands to Steve’s belt, opening it easily – thanks muscle memory – before moving to the button of his jeans.

“TJ, I-” Steve starts but seems to swallow his words.

“You want me to stop?” TJ asks as he nips at Steve’s lower lip, pushing his hips forward to generate a bit more blessed friction between them.

“Hmm,” Steve groans. “No, don’t. Don’t stop.”

“Good,” TJ replies, his voice a low growl as he eases open the zipper of Steve’s pants.

The move is met with a low groan from Steve, followed by arms wrapping around TJ, cupping his ass and lifting, and faster than TJ can process that _Steve is actually carrying him_ , TJ finds himself parked on the back of the couch, legs wrapped around Steve’s hips, which are grinding against him just right.

They are wearing far too many clothes. This needs to end.

But then Steve dips his head and starts kissing along the line of TJ’s neck, slowly, agonizingly, tantalizingly, murderously slowly, and TJ feels himself melt. Steve’s body seems to radiate warmth, his lips searing TJ’s skin wherever they brush. His fingers are trailing up the line of buttons on TJ’s shirt, then deftly opening each with a simple flick (geez this boy has skills – buttons have always been TJ’s bane when it comes to quick undressing). He pushes TJ’s shirt off his shoulders, lips wandering down along his collarbone, across TJ’s chest, and TJ is suddenly _incredibly glad_ he’s been putting more time in at the gym lately.

“Lifting is better than snorting,” Matt, his NA sponsor and workout buddy, likes to say.

TJ quickly shoves aside all thought of Matt when Steve nudges him back carefully, massive arm wrapped around TJ’s back protectively, to kiss along TJ’s abs. A low moan escapes TJ at the touch of soft, wet lips on the sensitive skin of his stomach, and before he can realize what’s happening, Steve has dropped to his knees in front of him. There’s an odd sense of urgency to Steve’s actions – it’s not like they have anywhere else to be. It’s intoxicating, though, TJ realizes as his heart rate picks up. Steve’s hands on his crotch, rubbing just that side of almost too hard, might also have something to do with that.

“May I?” Steve asks, and it takes TJ’s brain a second to catch up – Steve’s fingers are on TJ’s belt, and he’s asking for permission to proceed.

“Fuck, yes please. Permission granted. Full steam ahead.”

Steve chuckles as he undoes TJ’s belt, the button of his jeans, the zipper. “Was in the Army, not the Navy.”

TJ’s about to make a witty retort, but suddenly his pants are around his ankles and his dick enveloped in Steve’s mouth, and it’s all he can do not to yelp in happy surprise.

Geez, dude sure doesn’t waste any time.

He closes his eyes, his fingers curling around the slightly rough fabric of the couch, and lets the sensation take over. Steve’s mouth on his cock, the wet warmth as Steve sucks him down, pulls back, takes him in again. The slight scrape of teeth, just jarring enough to pull TJ back to reality. A swipe of tongue along the underside of TJ’s cock. A strong hand, firm on the back of his thigh. _Just a few inches,_ TJ thinks, a few inches from teasing at TJ’s ass, and suddenly that’s all TJ wants in life: Steve plunging into him.

“Fuck, Steve,” he grinds out, pries one hand free from clutching the couch to run through Steve’s hair. He can feel Steve smiling around his cock, and he waits a moment, enjoying the sensation just a bit longer, before he finally manages “Steve, I want you to fuck me.”

Steve pulls off suddenly, looks up at TJ through those _ridiculously_ long lashes, and isn’t that just a sight for the ages: Steve’s lips red, his eyes piercing blue, and TJ’s cock _right there_.

“Please?” TJ adds, and Steve lets out a hearty laugh.

“Well when you ask so nicely …” He shifts to get up, brings a hand up to cup the back of TJ’s head, pulling him in for a deep kiss. He wraps his other hand around TJ’s cock, stroking slowly. 

“We should be safe,” Steve says when he finally pulls away again.

“Uh, of course,” TJ replies factually, his head hazy from the sensations – Steve’s still stroking his cock, not as lazily now, more like he’s on a mission.

“I, uh, I don’t have any–”

TJ huffs out a laugh. “Don’t worry, big guy, I got this covered.” He nudges Steve aside with a gentle push into his hip. “I am like the Boy Scout of gay sex,” he says over his shoulder as he crosses the room to his bag. Mostly to himself, he adds, “If gay sex were a thing that were allowed in the Boy Scouts …”

Steve doesn’t respond, and when TJ looks up, having found the items in question, there’s a confused look on Steve’s face.

“Always prepared?” TJ offers.

It earns him a smile and a soft laugh from Steve. He’s leaning casually against the back of the sofa, his massive arms folded across that chiseled chest, and why on earth is he still wearing pants?!

“You should take those off.” TJ says it more as a suggestion or a simple statement, but damn if Steve doesn’t take it as an order. He practically jumps out of his pants, gets a little tangled in one pant leg in the process.

Bless the U.S. Army for teaching that boy to follow an order. Oh, this is going to be fun.

Steve is now standing in front of him, naked as the day he was born. He’s smiling bashfully and has his hands on his hips slightly awkwardly, as if he’s not sure about being naked. (Which is ridiculous. With a body like that, he should be a nudist.) His broad shoulders taper in a perfect triangle, that gorgeous V of muscle at his hips practically pointing to his half-hard dick. Boy, is that a sight to behold.

“Excellent.” 

Steve seems to relax at TJ’s words, so TJ continues, stepping closer until there are mere inches between them. He slips his left hand around Steve’s waist, allowing it to settle on the dip at the base of his spine. With the other, he runs the tips of his fingers over Steve’s thigh, mapping out the feel of muscle taut under skin, moving up to his hipbone before continuing south again. He gets a high whine from Steve when he reaches Steve’s dick, curls his fingers around it and gives it a long, slow stroke.

“Geez, TJ …” Steve drops his head to rest on TJ’s shoulder. His breath is warm on TJ’s neck, and that’s doing all sorts of things to TJ.

He contemplates picking up the pace of his strokes, or maybe dropping to his knees – god, he’d love to get his lips around that cock – but decides against it. No, he has other plans for tonight.

“Go lie on the bed.”

Steve lifts his head, pulls away to look at TJ. His eyes are blown wide, almost all pupil, and his hair is delightfully mussed. He acknowledges TJ’s words with a quick nod, steps aside as TJ drops his hands, and backs up to the bed, his eyes never leaving TJ’s. He’s about to lie down when TJ stops him.

“Wait. Don’t lie down yet. Here, catch.” TJ tosses him the lube first and then the condom; Steve catches both easily. TJ crosses the room so he’s standing in front of Steve.

“I wanna enjoy the view for a moment. Anyone ever tell you you’re ridiculously gorgeous?”

Steve chuckles. He’s giving off an air of feeling slightly out of place, standing there with no clothes on, his hands on his hips like he’s not sure what else to do with them, and that really just adds to the overall picture. Gorgeous but not stuck up about it it isn’t something TJ encounters often. Or ever, really.

“You did, about half an hour ago,” Steve points out with a half-smile. He reaches out for TJ, pulling him in closer with a hand around his waist. The kiss is long and deep, and TJ brings a hand up to stroke along Steve’s dick. Slowly – he’s not in much of a rush to move things forward, and Steve certainly isn’t complaining.

He also definitely does not complain when TJ tells him to lie down, when TJ crawls over him and takes Steve’s dick in his mouth. He’s beautifully responsive, making it easy for TJ to figure out exactly which moves he likes best – fingers brushing along the inside of his leg, soft licks along the underside of his cock, a swirl of tongue around the head. 

Which is TJ’s favorite part of sucking dick, after all. Some might scoff and call it weak, might use “cocksucker” as an insult, but TJ wears it like a badge of honor. He loves the weight of a dick in his mouth, loves the feel of his partner practically melting underneath him, loves the sense of control he gets from how his partner reacts. Which Steve is doing beautifully, writhing slightly, obviously trying to fight making noises but failing wonderfully. Then TJ pulls off, tells Steve to suit up as he drops the condom on Steve’s chest, and Steve does as he’s told, happy to comply.

And there’s another thing TJ loves: Yeah, he’s a bottom, most of the time. But that doesn’t mean his partner has an upper hand over him. He’s definitely the one setting the tone, and the pace, and it’s Steve following TJ’s lead when TJ swings a leg over Steve’s hips to settle himself over him. And _Christ_ that’s good, when Steve is inside him, and TJ grinds forward, moving their hips together, thrusting Steve’s cock deeper in. Yeah, TJ’s calling the shots. And yeah, Steve is totally loving it.

***

The early morning light is shining in through the windows, one ray falling right across the bed and into Steve’s eyes. He squints as he stretches and takes in the room around him. It looks different in the daytime somehow. Bigger, if that’s even possible.

There’s a stirring next to him and he shifts to get a better look at the sleeping body to his right. TJ looks peaceful, in a way he doesn’t when he’s awake. There’s something about the way he carries himself, like he’s always got one eye open when he’s around others, but it’s gone now. Steve can tell there’s plenty to TJ that he hasn’t shared with Steve, but Steve isn’t about to pry. He has his secrets too, after all, and he really isn’t looking to share those right now either. He can only hope that TJ keeps his mouth shut about last night when the public becomes more aware of his identity and the line between Steve Rogers and Captain America gets blurred. Yeah, Steve does want to come out about his sexuality one day – now that he’s coming to understand that it’s far more acceptable these days than it was when he was younger – but he’s not ready for that just yet.

Habit tells him to get up and hit the gym, but he’s feeling lazy and too content to leave this bed just yet. He’s never actually woken up with someone in his bed before, and he finds that he quite likes the idea of it.

“Hey,” TJ purrs sleepily, one eye open just enough to catch Steve looking at him. “Time is it?”

Steve presses a kiss onto the soft spot just under TJ’s collarbone before reaching over him to get his phone from the nightstand. “Just after 10.”

***

TJ watches with sleepy delight as Steve stretches across him, perfect abs hovering just in front of TJ as Steve reaches for his phone. Right there, just begging to be kissed.

“Just after 10.”

TJ’s just about to push himself up and take a bite out of those abs when Steve pulls away, phone in hand, settling back into the bed to read something.

“Is that the new StarkPhone?!”

Steve flips the phone over and considers it. “Uh, think so?”

“It doesn’t come out for another three months. How’d you get it already?” TJ is used to getting certain perks thanks to his name, and getting products that aren’t being sold yet a few weeks in advance is one of them, but he’s never been sent anything Stark. Yeah, he’ll admit, he’s a little jealous. And confused.

Steve shrugs and winks at TJ. “I know a guy.”

TJ is about to make a witty retort but snaps his mouth shut instead. Alright, so be it. Steve clearly isn’t sharing some things, and that’s fine with TJ. He isn’t exactly disclosing everything either.

Instead he gives Steve’s bicep a playful punch. “Come on, we got a plane to catch.”

***

Steve watches as TJ peels himself out of bed and saunters towards the bathroom. Moments later, he hears the shower being turned on, then TJ’s head appears through the doorway.

“You coming?” 

That’s not an invitation Steve needs to hear twice. He’s up and out of bed in an instant, apparently much faster than TJ had been expecting judging by the look of surprise on his face when he is suddenly in front of him.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he says with a smile as he tugs Steve towards the shower by the boxers.

***

“God, I’m starving,” TJ mumbles as he’s pulling on a shirt. He looks over his shoulder towards where Steve is toweling off his hair.

Steve catches his gaze and smiles. “Well, you know, quick metabolism. I could eat just about anytime.” He brushes a hand over his stomach, his perfect abs still beautifully evident under a t-shirt that’s about two sizes too small (or perfectly tailored, if you ask TJ). It’s more of an unconscious movement at the suggestion of food, though, rather than Steve trying to show off. Like when someone talks about yawning and then you suddenly have to yawn.

“When’s your flight? Think we got time?” TJ asks as he picks up his phone. He taps in the password to unlock the screen, his other hand carefully obscuring Steve’s view of the screen, (he learned the importance of password-protecting his phone the hard way from a gossipy one-night stand) and the notification icon pops up: two messages from Doug ( _ignore_ ), one from the airline and three from Trina.

“Looks like I do,” he says to himself as he sits on the bed and reads through the messages. “Shit.”

“What’s that?”

TJ is pretty sure he’d said that quietly enough not to be heard, but Steve’s coming around the side of the bed to sit next to TJ and nodding towards TJ’s phone as if to ask what TJ was muttering about.

“Flights are cancelled. Airport’s still closed.”

“Oh.” Steve doesn’t look all that surprised or bothered by the news. “Guess we’re stuck here another day…”

He also doesn’t sound at all sad about that.

TJ feels a grin spreading over his face and he gives Steve’s arm a playful punch. “You knew, you sly dog. You knew the flights were cancelled and you said nothing.”

Steve ducks out of TJ’s reach and rolls off the bed. He’s grinning back and shrugs with a fake nonchalance. “You were so busy ogling my phone, I didn’t want to bring you down. And then the …” He pauses, his eyes dart around as if he’s trying to figure out how to say it. “... in the shower … it, uh, slipped my mind.”

TJ lobs a pillow in Steve’s direction with a laugh. “Unbelievable.” He pushes himself off the bed and catches Steve around the waist. He presses a quick series of kisses into the side of his neck before breathing into his ear “Withholding information like that, tisk tisk. I woulda taken my time with you if I’d known there wasn’t any reason to hurry.”

A strangled whine escapes Steve at the same time as his stomach rumbles loudly. TJ huffs out a laugh, followed by Steve.

“Alright, let’s get you some breakfast, big guy,” TJ says as he pats Steve on the tummy and moves away to find his pants.

Ten minutes later, they’re in the hotel lobby, blinking out at the massive piles of snow that fell overnight.

“This is going to suck,” TJ says, looking down at his leather shoes, woefully unsuited for this kind of weather.

Steve doesn’t look too thrilled either. He sighs before turning towards the door. “Come on, moping isn’t gonna ease our hunger.”

The cold air blowing off the river hits them with a blast as soon as they step outside, and TJ tugs the collar of his jacket up a little higher. 

“God, the things one has to endure for pancakes.”

Steve chuckles. “Maybe they’ll have some of those little chocolate chips they can throw in for you, make it worth your while.”

TJ has to step double-time to keep up with Steve, who is having a much easier time stepping through the almost knee-deep snow. A few hours of snowfall have passed since the last time the plows have come through and the sidewalks haven’t been cleared yet in most areas, just where individual businesses have shoveled outside their door. It would probably be easier to walk in Steve’s footsteps, but TJ isn’t ready to swallow his pride quite so much yet and admit defeat.

“You know where we’re going?”

“No idea,” Steve replies factually. Then he pulls his phone out of his jacket pocket and waves it. “But the little voice in my phone does.”

He’s grinning like a ridiculous dork, and TJ can’t help but laugh. “Alright, buddy, let’s follow the nice voice in your phone to pancakes. And there had so better be chocolate chips in them.”

***

The voice in the phone did find chocolate chip pancakes for them, as well as some of the best lattes TJ has ever had. It’s warm in the cafe, their booth in the back corner by the window is ridiculously comfortable and they’ve got nowhere else to be and TJ’s pants legs are finally dry again, so they end up staying in the cafe and chatting for so long that Steve gets hungry again. It’s almost lunchtime anyway, they decide, so they order again. The waitress gives them a warm knowing smile. TJ is pretty sure she’s recognized him, but she hasn’t said anything, for which he is incredibly grateful.

Steve, on the other hand, still doesn’t seem to have any idea who TJ is, which is refreshing. It’s been a _long_ time since he could just be TJ without the weight of the Hammond name. TJ’s a little worried how someone who served in the military could not recognize him by his name alone, especially since he’s pretty much America’s Most Famous Gay, but he’s decided not to dwell on it. Brawn, beauty, brains – can’t have all three, after all. If this guy living under a rock means that TJ can enjoy a day or two without having to live up to (or live down) his name, then that’s fine with him. 

A warm knee is pressing into TJ’s leg and TJ looks up to find Steve looking at him with a weird look on his face. It takes a moment for him to figure it out – it looks an awful lot like fondness.

“You ready to head out?”

TJ’s not sure how to handle that look. He doesn’t want to think about the last time he thought he was on the receiving end of that look – no, this day is too nice to spoil with those memories. Fuck you, Sean Reeves, TJ thinks and resolves to just enjoy the day instead.

“Aw, what, you don’t want to also have dinner here?” He raises an eyebrow at Steve.

“They don’t serve dinner,” Steve shoots back with a cocky smile. 

***

They end up at a pizza joint for dinner, even though TJ tries to warn Steve about the sad approximation Chicago calls pizza, but it’s almost worth it just for the look of sheer horror and disappointment when Steve tries it. So they beat a hasty retreat and have burgers instead, and Steve finishes TJ’s fries, which TJ is surprisingly okay with (as long as no one ever tells Dougie, who would never let him live it down after all those fights over food they’d had as kids). 

It’s stopped snowing by the time they finish dinner, but it’s gotten colder, so by the time they get back to the hotel, TJ’s fingers feel like icicles. Steve is delightfully warm, though, and TJ curls up close to him on the couch, the blanket they’d pulled off the bed tucked under his chin, and falls asleep during the Game of Thrones marathon on HBO.

***

“Well, have a good flight to Washington,” Steve says.

They’re at the airport in the concourse – TJ’s gate down one arm of the terminal and Steve’s down the other. TJ isn’t particularly anxious to go, and Steve doesn’t seem to be itching to leave either, but it’s inevitable. Especially since TJ’s flight is about to start boarding.

TJ smiles, a half-hearted smile. “Yeah, have a good flight to New York. Bye, Steve.”

“Bye, TJ. And thanks again for taking me in.”

A mischievous grin spreads over TJ’s face. “You mean the room, or …”

Steve scrubs a hand over his face with a chuckle. “I meant the room, you punk. Now go catch your plane.” 

TJ winks. “Yeah. See ya, Steve,” he calls over his shoulder as he heads towards his gate.

“See ya,” he hears Steve say.


	2. Exhibition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve is kind of broken. He's also not all that good at following orders.
> 
> TJ's resolve is about as solid as chocolate pudding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A character not appearing in this story (yet?) is believed to be dead at the end of this chapter. Said character is not actually dead, but these guys don't know that at this time.

Steve is not going to freak out about this, nope. At least that’s what he’s trying to convince himself of. Too bad it’s not working.

He’s had one-night stands before. Actually, just about all of his sexual experiences have been one-night stands. Couldn’t exactly be open about being with a man back then, and there hadn’t been room or time for a lasting relationship, what with the war on and all the guys being shipped off to the front lines. And then he’d become Captain America, and, well, being queer didn’t really fit that bill, so the few encounters he had had since getting his new body had been hasty handjobs in the back alleys of London between raids, no names exchanged because he couldn’t risk it, and there hadn’t been much point in getting too attached anyway.

Things are different now, he’s learned on his road trip. It might not be accepted everywhere, but he won’t get thrown in prison for kissing a man, and it doesn’t have to be hidden so very carefully anymore. In fact, even some famous people are open about it these days, and many people accept that. Whether they would accept it from Captain America, though, well, he’s not sure of that yet.

Steve is comfortable with who he is, has been for a long time, but he also represents a figure that means a certain image to a lot of people. He saw that in how Agent Coulson had spoken to him – the adulation not of Steve Rogers but of Captain America, the country’s courageous hero, had seen it when they’d put him in that ridiculous uniform, so much like the one from the USO shows, that wasn’t much use in battle but brought back memories in people’s minds of days gone by. “Maybe what we need is a little old-fashioned,” Coulson had said. Captain America loving a man doesn’t exactly fit that image.

Not that Steve is in love with TJ. He barely knows him, after all. They probably won’t ever see each other again. It was a chance encounter, and a fleeting one. And if this blip in time he’s just spent with TJ was the first time he’s really felt _at home_ in this century, well, maybe it’s just a sign that he's moving in the right direction.

Yeah, somewhere deep down Steve knows that he was drawn to TJ, so willing to trust him and so glad to spend time with him because TJ looks like a modern-day carbon copy of Bucky. Sigmund Freud would undoubtedly have a field day with the fact that Steve had gone to bed with a Bucky look-alike. In fact, it had been a bit strange at first, doing those things with someone who looks so much like his fallen best friend. Maybe _that_ was what had drawn Steve to TJ – he reminded Steve of something familiar. 

There is so much new and strange in this new life of Steve’s; it’s a struggle to come to grips with most days. That was part of the reason he had decided to head out on this road trip. He’d hoped that seeing what this country has become in the meantime might help him feel more grounded. It hadn’t, not really. Meeting someone who looked like the most important person in Steve’s old life, well, it gave him something to hold on to.

Steve grips the wall he finds himself leaning against, clutching its smooth face as he fights for a breath. He slides down until he’s crouched in as small a ball as he can make himself.

There it is, that too-familiar feeling of the world coming crashing down around him.

 _Breathe, Steve_ he tells himself. _Easy does it, air in, air out …_

He’s just managed to catch his breath when the announcement system calls out that his flight is boarding. 

God, he hates flying.

***

“You’ve gotta be shitting me.”

“Thomas James, watch your language.”

“Shut up, Dougie. What is that?” TJ nods to the magazine Doug is reading while he’s sprawled out across the couch in their mother’s living room. It’s Thanksgiving in the Hammond household, and just like every year, his parents are nowhere to be seen yet and Nana’s already a few cups into the cranberry punch. In years past, this would be about the time that TJ would duck into the bathroom for a line or two, but those days are behind him.

“Uh, TIME Magazine. You should read it every so often, you know. Or a newspaper. Might be good to know what’s going on in the world.”

“I’ll get right on that,” TJ counters dismissively, reaching out to snatch the magazine from his brother’s hands.

“Hey, I was reading that!” Doug protests as he moves to get up in order to reclaim the magazine.

“Boys, aren’t you a bit old to be fighting over things like this?” Nana says, but TJ’s focus is elsewhere.

He’s blinking down at the magazine cover. Looking back at him, under the headline THE HERO WHO SACRIFICED EVERYTHING, is the furrowed brow of Steve Rogers. He’s wearing some sort of uniform, TJ notes as his eyes sweep to the bottom of the page, where the subheading reads “The Return of Captain America.”

“What the fuuuuck?” he exhales as he pulls open the magazine, flipping through the pages to find the article.

“TJ,” Nana chides as she pours herself another drink.

TJ is too busy reading to object, taking in the words on the page but not quite processing what it all means.

The article details how a crashed plane was found in the melting glaciers of Greenland – _thanks, global warming_ – a plane from World War II with a body in it, miraculously still alive. It recounts the speculation that had made its way through the media after the Battle of New York about who the masked fighter in the familiar spangled outfit had been. His identity had been hidden by his helmet during the battle, except for a few blurred photos snapped after his cowl had been torn off, and the “masked Avenger,” as the media had called him, had gone underground soon after. The other Avengers, those whose identities were known to the world, had remained rather tight-lipped on the matter, referring to him only as “Cap,” and TJ really hadn’t been following the story lately. He knows too well how intrusive it is to have one’s identity unwillingly revealed. Plus, whatever the news reported generally didn’t interest him all that much.

But this – well, suffice it to say his interest is piqued.

Steve Rogers was born in 1918, the article explained, had served in the Army during World War II, then been frozen for 70 years and had disappeared after the Battle of New York. Steve Rogers is _Captain America_.

TJ can’t help but chuckle to himself. It does explain why Steve hadn’t recognized him – he’d been frozen during TJ’s father’s presidency, had missed the circus of TJ being outed so very, very publicly. It also explains why he had seemed so out of place at times, why he hadn’t gotten some of TJ’s references. And isn’t that just perfect? The one guy who doesn’t put the dots together on who TJ is, and it turns out he’s got a secret, hidden identity too. And he’s a _lot_ older than TJ.

“What are you laughing about?” Anne asks, coming over to peer over TJ’s shoulder.

“Oh, just enjoying looking at him,” TJ lies.

Doug huffs out a laugh as he reaches to take the magazine, and TJ lets him. “Pretty sure Captain America doesn’t bat for your team, Teege …”

Now it’s TJ’s turn to huff out a laugh. Oh Dougie, if you only knew, he thinks, but instead he says “Well, a guy can dream, I suppose.”

“Can’t say that I blame you,” Anne chimes in. “Talk about gorgeous!”

“Hey now,” Doug objects half-heartedly.

“Boys, Anne, come sit,” his mother announces as she comes blowing into the room. And with that, the conversation is over.

And then Thanksgiving dinner turns into a campaign strategy meeting. They’ve been having more and more of these lately, now that Elaine’s bid for the candidacy is gearing up, and TJ’s kind of sick of it. He knows the deal, has been through it often enough. His job here, his only job during the campaign, is to not cause a scandal.

He’s hopeful that he should be able to manage that this time. He’s been clean for almost a year, and unlike previous attempts, he actually feels really good about it now. In the past there had always been an underlying reluctance to give it up – he’d _liked_ the drugs, as much as they also ate at him – but he’s managed to overcome that. Things are looking up for him, after all, with his club going well and a few piano performances lined up, mostly celebrity charity events but something to look forward to nonetheless.

And here’s the other thing: as much as they’ve had their differences, TJ really wants his mother to win. He might hate the media spotlight that his mother’s prominence casts on him by extension, but she really would make a great president (and far better than the other candidates, to be sure), and it’s about time for a female president in this country.

So if his mother needs him to keep his name out of the headlines, he’s going to try his damned hardest to do that. And staying away from Steve, in light of recent revelations, is probably a good place to start.

***

Steve has always enjoyed reading. There was a lot he missed out on as a kid, confined to his bed while others were outside playing baseball or kick the can, but books would take him to a whole other world. Plus the library was free, so even when he had nothing, he had books.

He doesn’t have to worry about where his next meal is coming from anymore, but books are still his steady companion, helping him to catch up on some of the things he’s missed during those frosty years. He can read faster now, too, since the serum corrected the astigmatism, which means he flies through books pretty quickly. Tony had given him a StarkPad with lots of books stored on it, and that was great, but Steve really likes the feel and smell of an actual book.

He’s spent so much time at the library around the corner that the ladies behind the desk all know him (they call him Steve, but the secret’s out these days about Cap) and they’ve taken to setting aside recommendations for him.

His current pile of books is from Gayle, a witty little lady who wears a different brightly-colored scarf each day and who’s the only one of the librarians who hasn’t tried to set Steve up with their daughter. She’s his favorite, not just for that reason, and he is definitely going to miss her when she retires at the end of the summer. 

The books she leaves him generally have a theme – one week it was bees and included a guide to beekeeping, a book on the quest to find what was killing the bees and a novel about a beekeeper who falls in love with a woman who is allergic to bees. Another week had been about time, featuring Stephen Hawking’s _A Brief History of Time, The Time-Traveller’s Wife_ and a Doctor Who novel. 

This week, the theme seems to be political legacy. There’s one about the Habsburg family, one about the Kennedys, and the one he’s reading now, about former president Bud Hammond and his family. It’s an interesting read, well-written and compelling, even if this Hammond guy seems to have been a bit of a cad. 

_Hammond_ , it hits him, and he lets the book fall on his chest.

 _“Of course, Mr. Hammond. It’s an honor to have you staying with us again,”_ Steve recalls the receptionist at the hotel saying to TJ.

He lifts the book again, flips to the middle section, where there are a few pages of photos. He skims past the ones of Hammond being sworn in, of him in the Oval Office, of his statement after allegations of infidelity, until he comes to a picture of President Hammond with his family. It must have been taken early in his first term, the twin boys only about ten years old, but there’s TJ, looking exactly like a younger version of the man Steve had met at the airport in Chicago.

It’s a candid photo of the family out in the Rose Garden. President Hammond and his wife are walking side by side, with the other boy, Douglas, holding his mother’s hand and looking up at her with a smile. TJ must have run ahead and is peering out at his family from behind a tree with an impish smile.

Yep, that’s definitely him.

***

“Don’t say I never did anything for you,” Doug says as he thrusts two pieces of paper into TJ’s chest.

“Naaaarrrgh,” TJ protests, reaching up to catch them. He’d been having a thoroughly deserved nap after a late night following a stellar performance (if he may say so himself) at a benefit concert yesterday evening before his twin just rudely awoke him. “What’s this?”

“Tickets to the opening gala of that new exhibit at the Smithsonian,” Doug replies as if it’s nothing.

TJ snaps up, suddenly sitting straight on the edge of the couch. He turns the tickets over to inspect them carefully.

“Your ears have been perking up at every mention of Captain America since Thanksgiving, so I figured you might enjoy it more than me.” Doug settles on the couch next to TJ, loosening his tie as he props his feet on the coffee table.

“You might be right …” TJ says, more to himself than to his brother. He'd told himself he wouldn't try to track down Steve, but if the chance to see him again is literally being thrown into his lap, well, who is TJ to say no?

“One condition, though,” Doug says. TJ turns and raises an eye at him. “You gotta take Anne. She’s been lusting after this Rogers guy almost as bad as you.”

TJ huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, no problem. Can’t go to one of these things without a date, after all.”

***

“Relax, Cap, you look fine,” Natasha reassures Steve, tugging his tie straight.

“Gee thanks. ‘Fine’ is exactly what I was aiming for,” he counters with a frown. He’s never been a fan of these events – crowd draws designed so people can come ogle him – not even when he’d gotten dragged into the dancing monkey show back in his USO days.

Natasha offers a soft smile. “You’ll be great.”

He musters a smile in return. The move to D.C. has been good for him – he’d never been to the capital before the War, just a handful of times on the bond-selling tour, so he isn’t constantly confronted with reminders of his old life like he had been in New York City. He’s only had a handful of those panic attacks since moving, which is great. The missions SHIELD has been sending him on give him something to focus on, and having a comrade in arms with him, someone like Natasha, who has been through a shared experience battling the Chitauri, has helped a lot. 

Plus it’s good to have Natasha on his side – he pities anyone not in her good graces. She reminds him of Peggy in a lot of ways – she’s smart and witty, won’t take anyone’s BS and isn’t afraid to speak her mind. She’s the perfect woman, Steve thinks with a smile as he watches her turn and head towards the door. Her dark green dress sways lightly and she seems to glide as she moves. It’s beautiful. 

If he were more into women, she’d be the one he’d fall for. Not that she’d go for it, though … 

“Come on, Cap. We got schmoozing to do.”

He catches up with her with just a few quick strides. “Thanks for coming with me.”

Natasha flashes him a warm smile. “Sure thing, Steve.”

***

Two hours later, Steve is ready for this party to be over, and yet there’s no end in sight. As feared, the event is painfully similar to his USO tour days, with the Smithsonian’s director, an overly enthusiastic man called Baxter, dragging him off every few minutes to be introduced to more potential donors. Steve doesn’t mind it in theory – the museum does important work, bringing history to people, and it relies on donations to do so – but in practice he just wants to go home. Or hit the gym.

He had managed to distance himself from Mr. and Mrs. Markum (or Beecham? Steve’s given up remembering names, especially when they’re as tedious as these two) and found Natasha, who had snatched an entire tray of canapés for them to share in a slightly quieter corner. Steve’s just popped an ahi tuna avocado wonton in his mouth when the director pops up again.

“That man is like a Jack Russell Terrier with a squeaky ball,” Natasha mutters, just barely loud enough for Steve to hear.

“Ah, Captain Rogers, there you are! I have someone I’d like you to meet.” 

Steve is struggling to swallow the morsel so he doesn’t have his mouth full during introductions – that would seem rude – when Director Baxter steps aside to reveal the pair he has brought over.

“Captain Rogers, Agent Romanov, Anne and TJ Hammond,” Director Baxter introduces with a flourish of his hand.

Steve sucks in a breath in surprise, feels a bit of fried wonton lodge itself in his esophagus. He struggles to keep himself from coughing half-chewed hors d’oeuvre up all over the director.

“Hi,” he manages to get out, his gaze going automatically to TJ.

TJ is standing just behind the woman he is with, a beautiful Asian woman in a sleek black dress and killer heels that would make Pepper Potts jealous. She’s practically beaming at Steve. “It’s so good to meet you, Captain Rogers.”

Steve shakes her hand with his best USO-tour smile. “You too, Mrs. Hammond. Thank you for coming.”

He coughs again, the wonton still uncomfortably lodged in his throat.

TJ’s smiling as he offers Steve a glass of champagne snatched from one of the waiters passing by. There’s a distinct look in his eye that tells Steve this is anything but a chance encounter. 

“Mr. Hammond,” he says after a rushed gulp of champagne burns down his throat.

“ _Captain_."

The event photographer appears, snapping a picture as they shake hands. The photographer has been milling around all night and must have taken pictures of Steve shaking hands with almost everyone he has met, though now Steve is suddenly worried someone will recognize in the photo what is more than just an introduction. He contemplates chasing the photographer down and getting him to delete the photo, but a warm hand on his forearm brings his attention back to the group in front of him.

“Anne is an interior designer. She might be able to help you with that sad little crashpad of yours, Steve.”

Steve looks at Natasha, who shrugs unapologetically. “I know things. It’s my job.”

Anne smiles in amusement. “I did an apartment in Natasha’s building about, what, two years ago?”

Natasha nods. “Yeah, sounds about right. It was just after your engagement was announced. Come on, let’s leave these guys to get acquainted and go catch up at the bar.” She hooks an arm around Anne’s elbow, and they head off.

The director is left standing awkwardly between Steve and TJ. He looks a bit flustered. “Oh look!” he proclaims, a little too loudly. “The Spaldings. I’d better go say hello. If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen.”

***

Steve and TJ both watch the director scamper off. Now that it’s finally just the two of them, TJ quirks a smile at Steve. “So you’re the man of the hour, huh?”

Steve ducks his head as if trying to avoid a spotlight. “Yeah.” He looks fairly uncomfortable.

“It’ll pass,” TJ says in an attempt to offer reassurance. “The media attention. It dies down once they find something else to hone in on.”

Steve nods but says nothing for a moment. Then he looks up again, catches TJ’s gaze. His eyes are clear and there’s a happy warmth in them. “It’s good to see you again, TJ.”

TJ returns the smile. “You too, Steve.”

It _is_ good to see him again. Even if TJ had told himself the thing between them was just a one-time fling, the curiosity of seeing Steve again, now that he knows about Steve’s alter ego, had been too great to resist.

And it was totally worth it. Steve looks good, really good. He’s wearing a dark blue suit and a simple black tie, a tiny American flag pinned crookedly to his lapel. TJ can’t help but smile at the detail – the lapel flag is practically mandatory for anyone in politics, but on Steve it has an entirely different symbolism.

“Sorry I, uh, wasn’t entirely open with you, about, well, this …” Steve gestures around the room. His voice is low, as if he’s trying to keep others from hearing; the huskiness sends a tingle down TJ’s spine.

“Well, guess we’re even on that front,” TJ says as he reaches up to trace a finger lightly over the pin, turning it carefully until it’s straight again. “And believe me, I know all about keeping things about yourself hidden.”

The memory of the trainwreck that was his relationship with Sean Reeves – if you can call it that – jolts through TJ. A moment passes, silence lingering between Steve and TJ, as TJ fights back that thought. He can’t allow himself to unstopper that emotion just yet – he’s been doing well with his recovery, but he hasn’t quite reached that point.

Maybe coming here wasn’t actually such a good idea. What had he been expecting, anyway? That he could just say hi, and he and Steve would have a good laugh about that time they had mind-boggling sex and then part ways again? That Steve would magically decide to come out and they could be together happily ever after? (Is that even what TJ wants? He doesn’t know – he just barely knows the guy, after all. Plus there's the “staying out of the headlines” thing to deal with.) Or that they could just hook up again, one more time for old time’s sake, to see what it’s like with all their cards out in the open? Hmm, that actually doesn’t sound awful.

“Must have been tough for you, having everyone watching you, all the time, as a kid.”

TJ just nods. He’s biting his lip, he realizes when he catches Steve’s eyes trained on his mouth, and forces himself to let go. He runs his tongue softly over the slightly sore spot on his lip. Yeah, he’s doing it on purpose to divert the conversation, and yeah, it’s kind of a dick move in a public venue like this, but it sure is effective.

Steve shifts his stance minutely, his eyes darting to the floor and then to the crowd. “You, uh, you go to a lot of these things?”

TJ can’t help but grin. The question is like the gala-event equivalent of “Come here often?”

He shrugs. “Only the ones that seem interesting.”

Steve cocks his head. The mischievous glint in his eye is back. “Oh yeah, crowd here enough of a draw?”

“Well, you know, Anne really wanted to meet Captain America, so who am I to deny her that?”

“That’s quite a sacrifice to make for one’s sister-in-law,” Steve says dryly. “She’s a lucky lady.”

TJ leans back against a pillar, his hips angled towards Steve, hands in his pockets. “Well, poor girl is stuck with Dougie for a husband, so …” He shrugs, a loose smile on his lips, doesn’t bother finishing the sentence.

Steve smiles, reaches forward as if he’d been about to brush TJ’s elbow but thought better of it and stops before shoving both hands in his own pockets. “How kind of you.”

Geez, who would have guessed Captain America would be such a troll.

“Well alright, I may have had some ulterior motives,” TJ admits. He’s walking a thin line and he knows it. What was between them is in the past; he’s only here to say hi. At least, that’s what he’s been telling himself for the past few days. He needs to, for his mom’s campaign by staying out of the headlines, but also for his own good – Steve isn’t out and probably won’t ever be, and TJ knows he can’t handle that again. But now, standing here across from Steve, well … Flirting has always come naturally to him, like breathing, and especially with Steve it’s like he just can’t stop himself. Doesn’t want to. 

“Oh yeah?” Steve’s eyes dart around the room as if to see if anyone is watching them before continuing. “What would those be?”

TJ offers a smile. “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. Believe me, I know how much it sucks to be outed against your will.” He folds his arms across his chest. “But I was curious to see you again, now that I know you’re Captain America and you presumably know who I am.”

“It does kind of change things, doesn’t it?”

“Not really.” TJ shrugs. When Steve sends him a questioning look, he continues. “I mean, only you and I know about … well–” he gives an exaggerated wink “–so we can both revel in that knowledge, but that’s all it is. Was.”

“I’d like to see you again, TJ.”

The statement catches TJ by surprise. Why would Captain America want to see _him_ again, especially now that he knows who TJ Hammond is?!

“Why?”

Steve looks a little taken aback. He crosses his arms, then seems to think the better of it and sticks his hands back in his pockets. “Because I enjoyed the time we spent together, and I’d like to do that some more.”

TJ lets out a huff. If it’s just sex Steve is looking for, he doesn’t need TJ for that. “Looking for a second go-round, huh? Sure you can find plenty of guys with less baggage more than willing to hook up with you, buddy.” 

“I don’t want– Can we just– How ‘bout maybe we just go out for a bite somewhere away from … this? Just as Steve and TJ?”

Steve is new to this “being a public figure” then, obviously. He clearly doesn’t know yet everything that comes along with it. 

TJ sighs. “You don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?”

“There is no ‘just Steve and TJ.’ That’s over. This–” he gestures around him “–this is who we are really. You, America’s hero. Me, America’s big gay fuck-up.”

The words slip out of him and he cringes. Closes his eyes, slumps his head.

He vaguely hears Steve step closer, feels a warm hand slip into his.

“TJ, that’s not– You’re so much more than–”

TJ doesn’t want to hear the end of it. He pulls his hand away, steps to the side and turns. Starts walking, ignoring Steve calling his name.

***

Steve finally finds TJ, after having gotten waylaid by the omnipresent director again and introduced to yet another round of donors, about half an hour later alone in the video room. On the screen, Peggy is recounting one of the Howling Commandos’ missions. The volume on the film has been turned off for the evening’s festivities, and it’s eerily quiet, just images moving by on the screen. TJ’s face is lit by the colors of the projection, and Steve tries not to think about the strange juxtaposition of it – his one lost love shedding light on an erstwhile partner, one whose story in Steve’s life Steve hopes will not also be over too soon.

TJ must have heard Steve come in, because he scrubs a hand over his face and hangs his head again.

Steve moves around the row of chairs until he’s next to TJ. He should say something, wants to say something. Something to convey how glad he is to see TJ again, how often he’s thought about those two days they spent together in Chicago, how disconnected he’s felt with the world but how _right_ it had felt with TJ, how he felt when he read about all those things TJ has been through, how it reminded him of his own experience of having to live up to a name that was pasted on him. But he can’t quite find the words. Instead they sit, side by side, watching the film in silence.

“I gotta say,” TJ finally breaks the silence after minutes have gone by, “there is a hilarious irony that Captain America went out and found himself a one-night stand and it happened to be the former president’s son. How patriotic.”

Steve laughs softly and bows his head. “Oh god, please never tell Stark or Barton. They’ll never let me live it down.”

There’s a snort of laughter from where TJ’s sitting, and Steve peeks up to see him smiling. TJ reaches out and gives Steve’s thigh a reassuring squeeze. “Secret’s safe with me, buddy.”

The light from the movie is dancing in TJ’s eyes, and his smile is warm and genuine, like it had been at dinner the night they’d met in Chicago. Steve returns the smile, leans in, and presses his lips to TJ’s. TJ pulls back initially, then a quiet sigh escapes him and he returns the kiss, hesitantly at first but increasingly eagerly. Steve brings his hands up to cup TJ’s face, memorizing the feel of a hint of stubble under his fingertips. There’s a little soft spot just under the edge of TJ’s jaw that earns him a happy exhale when he rubs a thumb over it, and he notes the spot for future reference. 

If there is a future.

But he’s carefully _not thinking about that_ as TJ’s hands slide down, fisting the front of his suit shirt, and he’s also carefully not thinking about how disheveled he’s going to look because right now he just wants to enjoy the moment. He’s spent enough time lately dwelling on the past; now he’s going to live in the present.

It’s TJ who deepens the kiss, tugging Steve closer by the tie as he neatly maneuvers the armrest of the chair and breathing “This is probably a stupid idea but I don’t give a shit” as he slides into Steve’s lap. Steve takes in the heady scent of TJ’s aftershave, the soft but insistent way TJ is pressed up against him. He drops a hand to TJ’s chest, thumbs at one of the buttons on his shirt, but can’t bring himself to undo it.

There’s a party going on out there in his name, and that’s Peggy up there on the screen. This isn’t the time or place to do these things.

He’s saved from having to put a stop this himself, though, by the sound of footsteps in the hall.

“Hmmm, TJ, someone’s coming,” he mumbles against TJ’s lips, pushes TJ back carefully enough to put some space between them.

“Don’t hear anything,” TJ says as he switches to mouthing at Steve’s earlobe, but then the footsteps are louder, high heels on marble floors, loud enough now to be heard even without enhanced hearing.

“Shiiiiiit,” TJ exhales, sliding to his feet and rubbing a hand down his chest in a feeble attempt to smooth down his shirt.

Steve follows suit, tugs his tie back in place, runs a hand through his hair. “We should, uh …”

TJ nods. “Speedy getaway?”

“Yeah.”

“I came with Anne, I can’t really leave her without a ride home …”

“I live just a few blocks from here, if you don’t mind walking.” Steve pulls open the door and gestures for TJ to go ahead.

TJ breaks out in a wide grin and steps through the doorway. “Not when the destination is worth the trip.” He turns a few steps later to look at Steve. “Wait, you live here now? You were in New York before.”

Steve rubs a hand over the back of his head. The move had been a means to an end, but now, with TJ around, the decision to move here seems even better. “Yeah, Fury offered me a job here with SHIELD, so …”

“Hmmm, close enough to pop over for a quick blowjob. Interesting …” TJ draws out the word, shooting Steve a flirtatious wink just as they round a corner.

“Interesting indeed.” 

Natasha is standing in their path, her hands stuck casually in the pockets of her dress. There’s little inflection in her words and a hint of concern in her eyes..

“Nat–” Steve blurts. He doesn’t know what to say beyond that, is left floundering for words.

She raises an open hand, waving it to indicate he doesn’t need to say anything. “You need to see this. This happened about an hour ago.”

She presses her phone into Steve’s hand. A video is queued up on the screen; Steve touches the button to play it.

“Here’s a little holiday greeting I’ve been wanting to send to the Mandarin,” Tony is telling the camera. “My name is Tony Stark and I’m not afraid of you. I know you’re a coward, so I’ve decided that you just died, pal. I’m gonna come get the body. There’s no politics here, it’s just good old-fashioned revenge. There’s no Pentagon, it’s just you and me.”

Steve sucks in a breath. This is insane. Tony can’t be thinking clearly. He just gave out his home address on national TV. That’s … not a good idea.

“We need to go help Tony.”

“That’s what I told Fury. He’s ordered us to stand down.”

“I can’t do that.”

Steve is halfway down the corridor before Natasha catches him by the elbow. “Steve, we can’t just fly over there. We’re not Thor.”

He exhales a shallow breath. “We have to go talk to Fury.”

Natasha acknowledges with a quick nod. Behind her, TJ clears his throat.

“TJ, I’m sorry.” Steve steps around Natasha until he’s standing in front of TJ. “I have to go help my friend.”

“Yeah, of course. No, definitely, go.”

***

TJ’s trying hard not to feel disappointed or abandoned when Steve nods at him, then turns and heads after Natasha towards the staff exit of the museum. It’s totally reasonable – their friend is in danger, of course they have to leave. And TJ is just the son of the Secretary of State, he doesn’t have any sort of security clearance, and besides, he and Steve have known each other for all of three days total, so of course they’re not going to take him with them. That’s not even what TJ wants (though going to the Triskellion would be pretty sweet – he’s never actually been inside and it looks so damn cool), but it’s the getting-left-here part that’s bugging him.

Which is why his heart rate picks up again when Steve stops after a few yards and turns around to face TJ again.

“Sorry.” Steve reaches into his pocket and pulls out a battered little notebook. He scribbles something, tears out the page and presses it into TJ’s palm. “Call me, alright?”

TJ looks at the paper and nods. “Yeah, alright.”

Steve nods again, brushes a quick kiss over TJ’s lips and is gone almost before TJ opens his eyes again.

***

“You could’ve told me you aren’t into womenfolk, Steve. I would’ve stopped trying to set you up with all those girls.” Natasha’s focused on driving – definitely faster than the speed limit allows, but Steve’s not about to tell her to slow down in a situation like this – as she says it, but she glances over to Steve with a warm smile.

“I like _womenfolk_ just fine,” Steve replies, making air quotes around the term. “I just prefer the menfolk.”

“Well you sure picked one hell of a representative. OUT magazine has had him at the top of the ‘most desirable’ list for about five of the last ten years, I think.”

Steve lets out a chuckle. He knows what Natasha’s doing – she’s trying to get him to talk to her about TJ so he doesn’t get too focused on how they’re going to hijack a SHIELD quinjet if Fury doesn’t give them the okay to go. And that’s probably a good thing.

“Can’t say I’d disagree with them.” For good measure, he adds “I’d appreciate if this could stay between us, though. Things between me and TJ aren’t … well, defined yet, and God knows what the public reaction would be if it got out.”

“Of course, Cap. Secret’s safe with me.”

Natasha pulls her Corvette into her parking spot in the Triskellion’s garage, and soon they’re in the elevator, demanding that it allow them up to Fury’s office.

“Absolutely not,” Fury says as soon as they enter his office. “I know what you’re going to ask, and I can’t authorize it.”

“Tony–” Natasha starts.

“Is acting as a civilian on this. You heard him say it himself. ‘Just good old-fashioned revenge.’ You don’t even have to give me that face, Captain. The Pentagon has made it very clear that this is _not_ a matter for us to get involved in. Colonel Rhodes is following a lead on the Mandarin as we speak. Our order is to stand down.”

Natasha lets out a disapproving sigh and folds her arms, catching Steve’s eye as she does so. She raises an eyebrow at him ever so slightly as if to ask what they should do next.

The question goes unanswered.

The screen behind them turns itself on as the AI voice announces “Important news flash.”

Steve turns to see the news live feed. It’s Tony’s Malibu mansion – Steve knows it well; he’d spent a few weeks there during his road trip – and there’s a missile headed straight for it.

The missile hits the glass facade of the living room, then three attack helos appear in the frame and open fire. As the building starts to crumble, two figures smash through a window, clear of the house. One is unmistakably Iron Man, and Steve lets out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. 

But then the armor seems to fly away, and the person who had been in the armor has a decidedly different figure than Tony – it looks like Pepper. The armor parts fly back into the house and moments later the ocean-facing front of the house breaks apart and starts to slide. Through the hail of bullets, what looks like a piano comes flying out of the house and crashing into one of the choppers. It spirals down into the water, soon followed by a second chopper hit by something else, though that chopper crashes into the house. That’s when the house seems to _disintegrate_. Steve watches in horrified silence as Tony’s house slides into the ocean, spilling contents as it falls. 

There’s no sign of Iron Man.

He blinks, once, twice, to make sure he’s seeing things properly. 

There’s a gaping hole in the side of the cliff Tony’s home had been perched on.

He looks to Natasha, who looks just as shocked as he is. Even Fury is speechless. He’s standing bent over his desk, propped up on his open hands, his head hung low.

The news feed cuts to the host, who is trying to find words to describe what just happened.

“Mute,” Fury instructs the AI. He looks up to Steve and Natasha slowly. “There’s nothing we could have done. You wouldn’t have made it in time anyway.”

He straightens, pushes the Call button on his phone. “Get me the Pentagon on the line,” he tells the AI. To Steve and Natasha he says, “I’m sorry. Stark was a good man. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to make arrangements to catch this sonofabitch Mandarin.”


	3. Christmas Eve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had hoped to have this up earlier (since Christmas is now over...), but alas, THE DEATHFLU came and took over.
> 
> Fitz_y worked beta reading wonders on this again, and for that I am forever in her debt. Thanks Fitz_y!
> 
> Hope you all had a good New Year! Many, many thanks to everyone who left kudos and comments on the last chapter - it makes me soooo happy!

TJ had gone home pretty soon after Steve and Natasha had left the gala. He’d spent a while at his piano, and then he’d gone to bed, so it’s not until he turns on the TV as he’s making breakfast the next morning that he learns what happened.

“Shit.” The milk carton slips out of his hands when he sees the footage. “Shit shit,” he mutters as he pulls off his wet socks and grabs a towel to wipe up the puddle on his floor. He tosses the towel and socks in the hamper, then picks up the crumpled piece of paper he’d carefully taken out of his pants pocket the night before and left on his dresser.

He looks at the hastily scrawled numbers, contemplates for a moment whether he should call. Custom dictates that one should wait at least a day, more like two, before calling when someone gives you their number, but this is a wildly different circumstance.

TJ picks up his phone and dials.

“Rogers.” Geez, Steve sounds wrecked.

“Steve. Hi. I just wanted to, uh, see how you are. I saw what happened. I’m sorry.”

There’s silence on the other end of the line.

“It’s TJ. TJ Hammond.” Shit, maybe he should have opened with that.

“TJ. Hi. Sorry, I didn’t recognize your voice.” There’s movement in the background. Maybe TJ is interrupting something? Maybe he shouldn’t have called … 

“Sorry. I know you probably don’t want to talk right now, I understand. I just … wanted to express my condolences.”

“Thanks.”

Steve doesn’t say anything else, so TJ speaks. “Well, uh, I’ll let you go. Just wanted to say I’m sorry. If you need anything, well, you’ve got my number now.”

“Yeah, thanks TJ.”

TJ ends the call and stares at his phone for a minute. _What the fuck?_ Okay, Steve’s obviously mourning his friend, so TJ wasn’t exactly expecting him to want to go catch a movie or something, but a bit more might’ve been nice.

***

Steve ends the call and puts his phone back down on the bench, then turns his attention to the heavy bag again. The rhythmic thud-thud-thud of his fists against the bag, the familiar ache in his knuckles, the mindlessness of the task – it eases him in a way that few other things can. He’s been at it for at least an hour; it’ll probably take another hour, maybe two, for him to achieve enough clarity to call it quits.

He pulls back his right arm to throw another punch, and then it sinks in. That probably came off as really rude, the way he’d spoken – or rather not spoken – with TJ on the phone.

The bag swings back and hits him in the head.

TJ had meant it well. He was being nice, reaching out to Steve, and Steve had gone and utterly dropped the ball. Shoot.

He peels off the wraps around his knuckles and picks up his phone. It takes him way too long to tap out a message (these tiny little keys on phones are obviously designed for baby fingers), but he can’t quite bring himself to call.

***

TJ is halfway through Mozart’s Piano Sonata 11 in A Major when his phone buzzes to let him know he’s got a text message. It’s probably Doug, and he’s just gotten in the flow of the music, so he ignores the message for the time being. There’s something about Mozart that has always helped TJ clear his head, regain focus, get back in line with things, and the Rondo Alla Turca is his particular favorite for that. He plays it twice, for good measure, lets out a long sigh and pulls his phone out of his pocket.

**Sorry about earlier, that was rude of me. I was in the middle of a workout and I guess my head was elsewhere. Thanks for your call, I really appreciated it. -Steve R.**

TJ can’t help but smile, which is weird since he’s still a bit annoyed about the call earlier. But he gets it – if working out is for Steve like practicing piano is for TJ, then it’s nearly impossible to switch gears from doing that to anything else. 

So he types back his reply as he heads to his kitchen for some much-needed coffee.

**Don’t worry about it. I get the same way when I’m at the piano ;-)**

A few minutes pass before his phone buzzes again.

**Say, you said earlier to ask if I needed anything. Does the offer still stand? I could use a friendly face that isn’t a SHIELD agent.**

Well, that’s unexpected.

 **Of course** TJ types back. **Want me to come over?**

Turns out, Steve just really doesn’t want to be alone in his apartment right now, so TJ invites him to his. He tidies up quickly and hops in the shower just in case, so he’s just toweling off his hair when the doorbell rings.

Steve looks, well, kind of like always. The sunny demeanor he’d had over pancakes in Chicago is gone, though, replaced with that uneasy smile from the night they’d first met. TJ knows the expression, the “just make the world think everything is fine” look – he’s worn it himself many times.

“Hey, come on in. I figured you’d probably be hungry, so I ordered pizza. Should be here in a few minutes.”

“You know me too well,” Steve says with a weak smile as he steps into TJ’s apartment.

“It’s the good East Coast style too. Not quite like the stuff in New York but way better than the shit we had in Chicago.”

That earns him a soft laugh from Steve, which is a good start. TJ leads Steve into the room; Steve stops at the piano, his fingers brushing over the wood appreciatively.

“I, uh, I saw a video at your performance at George Washington University last year. You’re really good.” Steve taps his fingers on the top of the piano as he says it, looks up to catch TJ’s eye.

TJ feels his heart pounding. He’s never been good at compliments, always expects them to be tied to some sort of caveat. “Thanks,” he finally manages. “I teach a few courses there now, actually.”

Steve raises an eyebrow with a quirked smile. “Really? Professor Hammond? Do you wear tweed?”

“You wish.” He flashes Steve his flirtatious smile. “Just an adjunct lecturer. What’re you doing watching videos of me on YouTube, anyway?”

Steve raises his hands to convey innocence. “The voice in my phone, it’s also in my computer, and it always gives additional information for queries.”

There’s that smile. At least Steve can make jokes again.

“Oh yeah, the voice in your phone and your computer, is it also in your head?”

“Maybe,” Steve replies with a shrug and a wink. “Tony, he programmed it for me.”

Steve seems to catch himself mid-sentence. A hand goes to his face and he wipes it over his forehead as he sinks into TJ’s couch.

Thankfully, that’s when the doorbell rings. 

“Must be the pizza,” TJ explains as he goes to open the door.

***

Steve is tired, he’s so tired of losing the people around him. First there’d been Bucky, then he’d woken up to find that most of the people he’d known had passed, and even now … He hadn’t known Tony very long or very well, but he was part of the team. They’d fought together side by side and Steve had watched Tony launch himself into that portal, a nuclear bomb in his hands, ready to sacrifice himself for the greater good. He’d also watched Tony fall from the sky, and he can still recall all too clearly the clenching in his heart when they’d all feared Tony hadn’t made it. And the relief when Tony had come to, a joke at the ready. As much as Tony had protested Steve calling them soldiers, they are brothers-in-arms, and it hurts to lose one.

But it’s part and parcel in this life of his, and the only thing he can do is his very damn best to prevent it from happening.

For now, though, he just wishes he could push all these feelings away.

“Steve?” TJ’s voice pulls Steve out of his thoughts. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

Steve looks up to see TJ looking at him, pizza box in hand, his eyes clear and friendly and warm, and that’s when all those walls Steve’s been building crumble and he gives in. He reaches out, slips a hand around TJ’s head and pulls him in for a kiss. TJ returns it eagerly as he struggles to put the pizza down safely, and it seems like hours pass of them lost in the kiss. Or maybe it’s just seconds – Steve can’t really tell.

He needs more, he wants more. But it’s TJ who shifts first, crawls into Steve’s lap. It’s TJ who tugs Steve’s shirt up over his head, then pulls off his own. Steve drinks in the warmth of TJ’s skin against his, the press of TJ’s body. He splays his fingers across TJ’s back, digs them into the hard muscle at the base of his spine.

There’s a needy groan from TJ, followed by an insistent roll of his hips. They’re both hard, and that friction is absolutely perfect.

“Fuck, Steve.”

Steve decides that’s an invitation and he pushes TJ back just far enough to be able to slip open TJ’s belt and undo his zipper. TJ follows his lead, standing up and shucking his pants. He gives Steve a look as if to say “your turn,” and Steve complies, lifting his hips just high enough to shimmy out of his pants and boxers.

“Fuck,” TJ breathes, his eyes raking over Steve’s body. “I could never get tired of that view.”

Steve chuckles as he reaches up to wrap his hands around the back of TJ’s legs, pulling him back into his lap. “Not exactly hard on the eyes yourself.”

TJ’s hand slides down Steve’s chest and settles on Steve’s cock. “Speaking of hard-ons …”

“Wow, that was terrible.”

“Sorry. I’ll work on it.” 

Steve tries to come up with a counter, but TJ has his hand around both their cocks and is stroking just fast enough to blank his mind of all higher thought.

Which is exactly what Steve was hoping for.

He lets his body take over, his mind relegated to the background as he gives in to the physical pleasure. He’s focused entirely on the sensation of TJ’s hand on his cock, the warm weight of TJ on his lap. Then TJ stops and declares, “Want more, want you,” presses a bottle of lube and a condom into Steve’s hand and kneels on the couch. 

Steve takes the cue, squeezes out a dollop of lube onto his left palm and traces down TJ’s back with his right hand. He stops when he gets to the curve of TJ’s ass, leans down to kiss the muscle of TJ’s shoulder blade with a scrape of teeth as he swipes some of the lube in his palm with his fingers, traces those fingers down to TJ’s hole, swirling around it slowly. 

“Geeeeeezus, Steve.”

He keeps up the movement, five swirls, six, seven, and TJ is arching his back, pushing into Steve, so Steve finally gives him what he wants, pushes a finger in.

“Fuuuuuuck.” 

Steve quickly adds another finger, moving them first clockwise and then counterclockwise to work in more lube, to open TJ up. TJ, who is panting beneath him, his fingers curled tightly around the back of the sofa, his back bent to give Steve better access. Steve wraps his free left hand around TJ’s hip, digs his fingers into the soft spot just below the hip bone, pulls TJ closer.

TJ responds by sucking in a deep breath, exhaling again slowly. “Fuck, Steve, more.”

Steve adds a third finger, pumps them in and out. TJ lets out a string of obscenities, so Steve quickens the pace. 

“Steeeeve.” TJ fumbles around with one hand until it finds the condom lying on the couch cushion, shoves it behind him at Steve.

Steve pulls out his fingers, tears open the condom wrapper with his teeth, rolls it over his dick. He squeezes out more lube, strokes it over himself. That feels … absolutely perfect. He lines up, pushes his dick into TJ slowly. Stops when he’s fully in. Waits a few breaths for TJ to adjust. Wraps his hands around TJ’s hips to pull him even closer. 

“Feels so good,” TJ exhales, which Steve takes as his cue and pulls out almost all the way before thrusting into TJ again, splaying his fingers over TJ’s hip bones as he pulls him onto his dick. TJ is warm and just tight enough, and he’s making delicious sounds of pleasure as Steve moves in him. And fuck, moving in him is _exactly_ what Steve wants to be doing right now. His cock buried in TJ’s ass, 

It doesn’t take Steve long to find his rhythm, thrust-thrust-thrust. TJ’s body fits beautifully into the curve of Steve’s bigger frame, his back a gorgeous landscape of muscles for Steve to kiss as he pumps into him. TJ lets out a hiss of pleasure when Steve nips at his trapezius muscle, so Steve does it again. 

Soon there’s a tightening building in Steve; he adjusts his angle until … yep, there it is.

“SHIT, YES! Fuck, I’m close …”

TJ’s got one hand on his own dick, his arm muscles flexing as he jerks himself. The light from the table lamp falls across TJ’s skin, illuminating the rise of muscles, casting shadows across his back – it’s beautiful.

“Steve, I’m gonna …” TJ sounds strung out, the words a challenge to get out. He’s so far-gone, and that thought, the thought that Steve is doing this to him, is intoxicating.

“Me too. Go on.” Steve curls his fingers around TJ’s hip and thrusts in, hard.

“Fuck, Steve!” TJ shouts, and Steve feels a shiver shoot through TJ’s body as he comes.

Steve’s close behind, and now there’s no holding back, he’s going to come, he needs to come, and he thrusts again.

“FUCK, Steve,” TJ grinds out, but Steve barely processes the sound, too lost in his sensations. It all washes over him as he thrusts again, orgasm rushing through him, his mind going hazy, breath coming in gasps, his skin crawling as he senses every single touch and yet also nothing at all.

Once he’s got his breath under control a bit, he leans down to kiss TJ’s shoulder blade. It’s then, as he’s pulling out, that he notices the marks there and on TJ’s hips. 

“Shit, TJ, that’s gonna bruise. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize …” His hand hovers over the spot on TJ’s shoulder, but he doesn’t touch it. He must have been using more strength than he’d realized. He’s gotten better about controlling himself, but sometimes his head gets away from him, in the fray of physical activity. It’s only happened in battle before, and when he’s working the heavy bag. He’s never lost himself with another person before, and it frightens him. He could have really hurt TJ, could have done something TJ didn’t want, and he might not have been aware it. He shrinks back, puts a good foot of space between him and TJ.

TJ cranes his head around to look at him. A moment passes before a smile spreads over his face. “Don’t be. If I hadn’t liked it, trust me, I’d’ve let you know.” He stands up so he’s facing Steve and a hand comes up to stroke his cheek. “Come on, let’s get cleaned up and have some pizza. I think we’ve earned it.”

“It’ll be cold by now.”

TJ’s already up and halfway to the bathroom, but he stops and turns to smile at Steve. “I’ve got this thing, it’s called an oven. Great for heating things. Heard of it?” 

TJ grins and disappears into the bathroom before Steve can shoot back a reply, so Steve lets it slide. A few seconds later, TJ sticks his head through the door. “That was the part where you were supposed to follow me, Rogers.”

“Oh, right.” Steve scrambles to his feet, nearly tripping over his pants, still lying discarded on the floor, to join TJ in the shower.

***

“One thing I’ve observed about the 21st century,” Steve says, his tone entirely serious, “it’s that people really love pizza.”

They’d gotten distracted again last night in the shower – TJ had forgotten how much fun it could be to just _make out_ , not as a prelude to sex since they were both quite satisfied on that regard from the couch escapade but just because kissing is awesome – and had fallen into bed too tired to eat. TJ was actually kind of surprised to learn that there was, in fact, a point at which even Steve isn’t hungry, and he was even more surprised to find that Steve, who’d said he was always an early riser, was still fast asleep when TJ woke up the next morning. TJ chalked it up to his emotional state – TJ knew from his own experience that he liked to sleep in when things were tough, so he figured it might be the same for Steve – so he’d let him sleep. It had totally been worth it for the adorably mussed bed head Steve had been sporting when he finally stumbled into the living room. They were both too hungry for distractions by that point, so now Steve is getting to know another fine 21st-century tradition – pizza for breakfast.

TJ huffs out a laugh, snorting a little in the process. Well, that’s embarrassing. “But it’s so good though! How could you not?!”

“Not saying I don’t.” Steve helps himself to another slice with pepperoni and takes a huge bite. “But people sure do eat a lot of it.”

“Congress tried to pass a bill classifying it as a vegetable last year.”

Steve blinks at TJ. “Okay, now you’re having me on.”

“No, serious. For school lunches. Cuz of the tomato sauce, supposedly. Fucking Republicans. It didn’t get passed, though, thank god.”

Steve is still staring at TJ in disbelief. “I don’t even know what to say to that. _Tomatoes_ aren’t even vegetables, they’re fruit.”

“I find that sometimes it’s best just to shake your head and not think about things too hard.” TJ shrugs and gets up to clear his plate. Some might say he takes the “stick your head in the sand” approach too often, but TJ, having spent his whole life surrounded by political maneuvering, has learned that you either join ’em or run and hide, and he doesn’t have the energy to join. He’ll leave that to the rest of his family, thank you very much.

It’s already early afternoon, TJ realizes when he glances up at the clock in his kitchen, and he’s got to go to his mother’s house for Christmas Eve dinner in a few hours. He hates the idea of leaving Steve alone, considering what he’s going through and that it’s Christmas, but he can’t exactly invite Captain America along for dinner and not expect some pointed questions from his family.

Well, Steve is going to leave TJ’s at some point anyway. TJ doesn’t know if they’ll see each other again after this (and while his head is still telling him it’s for the best if they don’t, some other part of him – TJ’s going to say it’s his libido, and definitely not any other part – seems to think otherwise).

It’s best not to give thoughts like that free rein, TJ decides. Just like he’s pointedly _not thinking about_ the way his heart had fluttered when he’d woken up to Steve beside him or when half-asleep Steve had come into the living room. He washes the pizza grease off his hands and heads back into the living room, where he sits down at his piano, opens the fall and rests his fingers on the keys.

“Do you mind if I play for a bit? I try to get some practice time in every day.”

“No, please, go ahead. I love piano music, and I’d love to hear you play.” 

“Oh yeah? What’s your poison? Classical?” TJ starts with the most recognizable bars of “Moonlight Sonata.” Steve smiles, but he doesn’t seem overly into that tune, so TJ switches. “Maybe more of a jazz guy, considering your demographic?” 

That earns him a laugh. Good, he decides, better keep going, and continues with one of his current favorites, a piece by Herbie Hancock. Steve seems to enjoy it, so TJ plays part of another, grinning slyly as he switches songs halfway through and picks out the opening to “Star-Spangled Man With a Plan.”

“Oh god no,” Steve groans and palms his face, but he’s smiling, so TJ shoots him a wink. 

“How about film classics?” 

It takes more than a few bars of the Star Wars theme for Steve to recognize it, which TJ thinks is pretty amusing. Dougie must have made him watch those movies hundreds of times as kids.

“Seen it?”

Steve nods. “I’ve got this list of movies that I have to catch up on. Tony and Clint put it together for me. They were very insistent. Tony put that one on the list and said it _had_ to be the first I watched. I did, watched the first one a few weeks ago. I’m not sure I follow his enthusiasm, though.”

TJ blinks at Steve in disbelief, misses a few keys in his distraction.

“That little boy was pretty irritating.”

TJ drops his hands, accidentally hitting a bunch of keys at the same time as he does. “Wait, you started with _Phantom Menace_?!”

“The box said it was the first in the series …” 

“Oh god.” He scrubs a hand over his face, trying to hide a smile. “First off, Doug must never find out about this. Second, we need to fix this. You and me, Star Wars marathon. In the right order. Third –” he catches Steve raising an eyebrow at him and stops mid-rant. “What? My brother is a huge dork. He made me watch them.”

Steve is still doing the eyebrow thing.

“Yeah, okay, I like them too. Han Solo was fiiiine.”

Steve huffs out a laugh and leans down to cup the back of TJ’s head as he kisses him. “We’ll watch them together soon. Play me more music?”

TJ hadn’t even realized that he was essentially suggesting a future date with Steve. He’d meant it more as an offhand remark, but Steve has gone and taken the bait, and actually TJ isn’t too upset about that. In fact, he finds he’s pretty happy about it. If he were to look at himself in the mirror right now, he’d probably catch himself smiling. 

Which is a dangerous position for him to be in. Things with Steve will never progress beyond hidden trysts and secrets, just like it had been with Sean. He knows that. And then eventually things will go belly up when Steve decides he needs to find a girl to settle down with or if the press should ever find out, and TJ really doesn’t want to go through that again. He can’t. Not for his own well-being, and also not for his mom’s campaign. 

He's got to switch gears, bring this conversation to more neutral ground.

“How about some Christmas classics? ‘Tis the season and all.” He nods towards the little tree in the corner and starts with “Jingle Bells.” Surely Steve must know that one.

He does. 

Fucking _Steve_ , man, he’s making this impossible, the way he pulls up a chair and listens so goddamned intently as TJ plunks out _Jingle Bells,_ a song they teach you in, like, your third piano lesson, as if it were the most incredible thing he’s ever heard. As if TJ’s Beethoven or something.

TJ moves on to “Good King Wenceslas” and Steve actually starts humming along. When he catches TJ’s questioning look, he blushes (shit, that’s adorable) and shrugs.

“Back when we were kids, me and Buck used to go caroling, earn a few extra pennies. That one was a favorite.”

Alright, time for something Steve probably doesn’t know. 

TJ plays through the first verse of the song, opting for the slowed-down version. He's always preferred it over the excessively pop-y original. There’s no recognition in Steve’s eyes, which is good, TJ thinks. Until Steve goes and runs a hand softly down TJ’s spine, brushes a kiss against the side of TJ’s neck. 

“It’s beautiful,” Steve says, his voice barely more than a whisper, as he squeezes himself next to TJ on the piano bench. He runs a hand through TJ’s hair and smiles. “What is it?”

TJ’s cursing himself innerly when he realizes how very much he has just shot himself in the foot. And how very fucked he is, because there is no way he is going to be able to keep emotions out of this, not with Steve looking at him like that, all warmth and kindness and fucking _sunshine_ , and his heart feeling like it’s about to explode. He swallows before answering “Mariah Carey. Pop singer from the nineties.”

“Hmm, I’ll have to look her up. What’s the song called?”

TJ plays the refrain again, sings softly along with it, his eyes fixed on Steve. “All I want for Christmas is … you …”

Steve smiles at TJ, inches closer and presses a kiss on TJ’s lips. He takes a breath as if he’s about to say something, but he’s interrupted by a cellphone ringing shrilly.

They both look at each other, waiting for the other to answer their phone.

“Is that yours?” Steve asks.

“No. Wait, shit, yes.” TJ springs to his feet; the piano bench would have gotten knocked over if there hadn’t been 200+ pounds of all-American supersoldier sitting on it.

It’s the emergency ringtone, the one that only comes when he gets a call from one specific number, only for use when there's a threat of danger or when something’s happened. TJ’s only heard it a few times, which is why he didn’t recognize it right away. 

He fumbles through the pockets of his jacket and finally manages to find his phone.

“This is TJ Hammond.”

“Mr. Hammond, this is Agent Wentworth. There’s a situation. We need to bring you to a safe location. Are you at home?”

TJ feels his chest constrict. A situation. What does that mean? Has something happened to his mother? Or his father? Has there been an attack? They have to be fine – he’s supposed to go to his mom’s house in a few hours. Surely they would have called if something had happened. Oh, wait, this _is_ that call. He should check the news. It’ll be on the news. No, hang on, he can just make Agent Wentworth tell him. Wentworth is in charge of his family’s security. Where was Wentworth when this was going down?! He can’t think straight, his mind racing. Coke, he thinks. That’s what he needs to calm himself down. No. Fuck no. That’s the wrong answer. His eyes settle on Steve, who’s looking at him with an expression of collected determination. Steve is here. Steve keeps people safe for a living. Steve has saved the _world_. From _aliens_. It’ll be okay.

“Mr. Hammond? Please respond.”

“Yes, I am in my apartment,” he replies matter-of-factly. “I am with company.”

“They can come along to the secure location. An agent has just been dispatched. Stay where you are; the agent will tell you more when he arrives.”

“Okay. Thank you.” TJ ends the call, lets out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding as he sinks into the couch and buries his face in his hands. “What the fuck …”


	4. The Safe House

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Argh, sorry this took so long - this chapter nearly killed me. Fitz_y worked wonders with the beta reading, again (though I made changes afterwards so any errors are my own damn fault, sorry!) (BTW, if you find yourself in need of some not-a-happy-ending post-CW Stucky angst, check out fitz_y's hurts-so-good fic [These Things Between Us](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9368237) )

The agent, Agent Falzone, is at TJ’s door ten minutes later. Maybe TJ should have been more specific when he’d said he had company, because the poor guy certainly wasn’t prepared to be greeted at the door by Steve in full-on Captain America mode. TJ is incredibly grateful for it, though, since he can barely manage to tie his own shoelaces right now. It’s nice to be able to let someone else take charge, especially since Steve obviously knows what he’s doing.

It was also really great to see the look of relief on Steve’s face when Falzone had told them that Tony Stark is, in fact, not dead, and that he saved a dozen people from plummeting to their deaths after being sucked out of Air Force One by an explosion.

It sounds pretty fucked up, actually. Air Force One hijacked and crashed, the president kidnapped, War Machine (Iron Patriot, or whatever they’re calling him these days) compromised, Iron Man catching people falling from the sky. This is one hell of a Christmas Eve.

Steve doesn’t seem too shaken by it, though, which kind of makes sense, considering the guy is used to fighting Nazis and aliens. Now Steve is fully focused on the new task at hand – Operation Protect The Hammonds, TJ’s calling it in his head – and he’s already going over exit strategies and security perimeters and whatnot with Falzone out in the living room. TJ, meanwhile, is in his bedroom, trying hard to focus on his own task: packing an overnight bag.

It's harder than it should be. 

He counts to four as he breathes in, counts to four as he breathes out, just like his therapist has taught him. It’s going to be alright. His parents are safe, his brother is safe. They’ve all been brought to separate safe locations as a precaution since the president has been kidnapped, but honestly, TJ kind of hates the guy so he’s not all that worked up about it. Sure, he doesn’t want him dead or anything, but … 

Eight years in the White House when his dad was president and nothing like this ever happened. There had been threats, sure, and times when the family had been whisked away from a public appearance but never anything that required them being brought to a safe location, let alone separate ones. TJ had thought the days of having a security detail would be behind him once they left the White House. He’s not used to having someone follow him around, and the thought of having the men in black watching his every move … it makes him feel gross, like he needs a shower.

He’d said as much to Steve before Falzone had arrived. “Think I’ll just tell them to leave me. No one’s gonna come after me, I’m like, the _least_ interesting target.” Steve crossed his arms and looked at him sternly, so TJ continued. “Look at me, I’m no one. I’m the gay, recovering addict son of the secretary of state. Some super conservative hate groups might go after me, but not the Mandarin. I don’t need Secret Service.”

“I think it would be safest for you to have someone looking after you.”

TJ huffed derisively. “Think I can look after myself.”

“I know you can, TJ. But if something _does_ happen, it’s good to have back-up.” Steve uncrossed his arms, shoved his hands in his pockets. “I could come with you, keep an eye out. If you want.”

TJ let out a sigh and shrugged as he sat down on the couch. Yeah, it’s a hell of a lot better than being stuck alone in a safe house with Agent Smith – nothing against the Secret Service, but the agents aren’t exactly a barrel of laughs. But … Steve and him holed up together, just the two of them, definitely isn’t going to make this whole “keeping feelings out of this” thing any easier, though.

“Punching bad guys is kind of my specialty,” Steve added with a smile.

“Yeah,” TJ conceded, “that sounds great. Thanks, Steve.”

Steve’s face lit up. “Glad to help.”

So now TJ’s trying to pack, and trying not to freak out. He _could_ just tell all of them to fuck off, to leave him alone, and lock himself in his apartment with a bottle of vodka. No, TJ, that’s a terrible idea.

Instead he shoves a few pairs of socks and boxers into his bag – the bag he’d been using when he met Steve, just a pretty stranger in the airport (and here they are now, funny how things work) – and then stuffs some shirts in with them.

“I’ll just need to collect my go bag from my apartment, then I can accompany Mr. Hammond to the safe house. Yes, sir, I understand,” TJ hears Steve saying. It sounds like he’s talking to someone on the phone. 

TJ pulls two pairs of pants out of his closet and packs them, then he zips his bag closed and heads into the living room.

“Yes, sir. Thank you.” Steve ends the call and hands the phone back to Falzone with a nod. “All cleared.”

He must have heard TJ come into the room since he turns, and in an instant his gaze and his posture soften. The serious tone is gone from his voice, replaced by a far friendlier one, when he asks, “Hey, all set?”

TJ’s going to go ahead and ignore the way his heart is hammering in his chest and that weird fluttery feeling in his stomach. Not the time for this sort of thing, Hammond. We have a _situation_ here, and not like that moron with the enviable abs on Jersey Shore. Focus, Hammond.

He nods and holds up his bag. “All set.”

“If it’s alright with you,” Agent Falzone says, “I will bring you to the safe house and leave you in Captain Rogers’ company.”

“Yeah,” TJ acknowledges. “Let’s do this.”

Falzone leads them out of TJ’s building and to the black SUV waiting out front, and while TJ had kind of been hoping they would do the thing they always do on cop shows where they check the corners and yell “clear!” before entering a room, it’s actually pretty uneventful.

Which is probably the point.

Steve rides shotgun next to Falzone, leaving TJ by himself in the backseat to simmer in his thoughts. He should probably be worrying about the safety of President Ellis, but what really keeps going through TJ’s mind is what the fuck he and Steve are doing.

He’d sworn off getting involved with supposedly straight guys (because while Steve has told TJ that he prefers men over women, America’s Golden Boy is straight as an arrow as far as the rest of the world knows, and that seems unlikely to change); he’d sworn off setting himself up to get hurt. Which is inevitable in this case. It’s not that TJ’s itching to go public with whatever the fuck this is between them or anything, but all it takes is their getting spotted together for the rumor mill to start churning out stories of how TJ Hammond corrupted an American idol. Because of course it would be all TJ’s fault, harlot that he is. 

So they’d have to keep things a secret, which always turns into a huge mess. It means never going out in public, always keeping an eye out. And the worst part, in TJ’s mind it means denying any sort of relationship if asked. Because somehow he’s never been able to handle seeing someone deny emotional involvement without believing that it’s actually true, that there’s no tie between them. 

Yeah, it sounds stupid, but TJ’s just never reached a place where he could brush off things like that. And it’s gotten him in a hell of a lot of trouble in the past. He can’t let that happen again.

***

Steve realizes too late that maybe he should have gotten into the back seat with TJ rather than the passenger seat next to Agent Falzone. Assess the situation, his mind had told him, keep an eye out for changing conditions; be aware of the surroundings. The passenger seat offers a better line of sight, the windows in the back tinted too dark for a decent vantage point. 

But now TJ’s sitting behind him, completely quiet, with a look of consternation that has Steve worried when he looks back to TJ in the rearview mirror. He’s got something on his mind; he’s probably concerned about President Ellis. Steve’s not sure how closely TJ is involved in his mother’s work, but he’s bound to have met the president a few times, so it’s to be expected that TJ be concerned about the man, not to mention about how this situation might develop. If the Mandarin has moved on to targeting America’s political leaders, TJ’s mother as Secretary of State could be on his list.

Steve should be there next to him, should offer some sort of comfort. He’s not sure how much consolation he can offer, but TJ had been a great support to Steve when they had believed Tony to be dead, so it seems only right to repay the gesture. 

He has a job to do right now, though, and that’s to keep TJ safe. It took a bit of convincing to get Agent Wentworth to agree to let Steve take over TJ’s security, even if, at the end of the day, it would be within his rights for TJ to say he didn’t want any protection at all. But TJ had recognized that it would be best to have someone looking out for him, and if Steve being there instead of a Secret Service agent helps TJ feel better about this less-than-ideal situation, then Steve is glad for the opportunity. He was given these powers for a reason, after all, so he might as well put them to use. He can’t go off to help Stark and Rhodes find the president,which was his first instinct when they learned that Tony wasn’t dead, so now he can at least do his part by helping to protect TJ. No one is going to get anywhere near TJ Hammond, Steve has resolved. That mission comes before anything else. This thing between them can wait. 

So Steve runs up the steps double time when they stop at his apartment for him to pick up his go bag, and he gets back into the front seat, regretting that they’d lost the two minutes it took for him to retrieve his bag. But now that he has his shield at hand, he feels much more at ease. The cool, familiar weight of the metal leaning against his leg – he can face anything when he’s got his shield.

It’s an hour’s drive to the safe house TJ is being brought to, a nondescript single-story house at the end of a long dirt driveway off a narrow road on the edge of some one-horse town in Maryland. 

“Wow, they really pulled out all the stops,” TJ remarks dryly as they get out of the SUV.

There’s a beige Toyota Camry sitting in the driveway. Judging from the dust, it’s been there for a while. Falzone nods towards it. “If there’s an emergency and you need to get away, the keys are in the house.”

“Hope it’s not an emergency we have to get away from _quickly_ ,” Steve hears TJ mutter under his breath.

They follow Falzone into the house, and the agent gives Steve a location briefing while TJ brings his bag into one of the bedrooms. Steve focuses is on what Falzone’s telling him – the Hammonds are all at separate locations, Wentworth will contact him with news as soon as there is any, don’t leave the premises. It’s a fairly standard security briefing, but Steve appreciates Falzone’s attention to detail. The agent had seemed a bit bothered when Steve had mentioned taking over TJ’s security, and Steve isn’t sure if it’s because he feels that Steve is either unqualified (not being specifically trained for personal security) or that Steve thinks he is somehow superior to an agent (which Steve would never dare to suggest, even if the fact remains that there are things he can do and withstand that a non-serumed individual, no matter how well trained, cannot), or even perhaps because Falzone might be questioning what the nature of Steve and TJ’s relationship is. It had taken a bit of negotiating and reassurances to Wentworth that Steve is, in fact, quite capable of providing protection (mentioning the “I took down an entire Hydra base with just a prop shield” story may have helped) before the agent had agreed and told Falzone as much. Falzone appears to have warmed up some now, though Steve doubts they’ll be sending each other Christmas cards any time soon.

TJ’s dozing on the couch when Falzone leaves. He’d voiced his dissent when Falzone had taken their cellphones and given them “clean” phones as a replacement in case someone was tracking their location (“Really? A flip phone? What is this, 2003?”). He’d grumbled after taking a look at the stacks of canned food in the pantry (“Not all of us have a magic metabolism for processing this crap. Some people have to work for their figure.”). He’s in a mood. Steve gets it – it’s a stressful time for TJ, being brought out here because he or his family could be in danger and being separated from his family at Christmas. Yeah, he gets it, what TJ’s going through, and if he thinks TJ is perhaps taking this a little too hard, well, Steve’s going to keep that thought to himself.

***

This fucking sucks. It’s Christmas and here TJ is, stuck in a shitty, drafty safe house that looks like it was last decorated around the time the _Brady Bunch_ was on TV when he could be knocking back cranberry martinis with Nana and stuffing himself with roast.

And he’s going to be stuck here, all alone, with Steve. 

While being alone with tall, blond and gorgeous with nothing else to do would have sounded like the best Christmas present TJ could ever have received a week or so ago, now he knows that he is going to fail miserably at his resolve to keep things casual.

And worse yet, he’s pretty sure Steve doesn’t feel the same way. It’s pretty obvious, really. Steve had been quick to hop into the front seat to ride shotgun rather than sit next to TJ, which had been a fairly clear statement that he was going along as a security detail, not as TJ’s company. He’d left his bag by the door when they’d gotten to the house instead of bringing it into the bedroom TJ had put his bags in. He’s here as TJ’s bodyguard, nothing more.

TJ pulls his arm back from over his face and cracks open one eye. The bag is no longer by the door. Steve probably brought it into the second bedroom. He listens carefully for where Steve is. There are sounds of movement down the hall where the bedrooms are. Sounds like he’s unpacking.

He rolls over so his face is buried in the couch cushions. Then he gets a good whiff of the couch and decides this in not the best place to be nesting, so he peels himself off the couch with an exasperated huff and heads towards the bedroom.

He stops in his tracks when he sees Steve busy unpacking in the room TJ had claimed as his.

“Oh.” 

Steve stops what he’s doing and straightens. “I like to unpack when I’m staying somewhere. Helps me feel … grounded.”

“I was gonna take a nap.” TJ rubs at the back of his head, shifts his weight to one leg.

“Sure, I can do this later. I was going to do another sweep of the perimeter once I finished anyway.”

“Alright.” TJ pulls back the comforter on half the bed, shimmies out of his jeans and crawls under the covers. He hears Steve move towards the door, then stop. Steve moves closer again.

“Hey TJ? I just, uh, I wanted to say thanks.” There’s a pause, and TJ’s not sure how to respond, but then Steve continues. “For being there when I thought Tony was dead. I mean, we don’t really know each other all that well, though I really hope that will change, so it was real good of you to be there for me. So thanks.”

TJ sighs. As much as he wants to keep the covers over his head and try to shut Steve out, to keep his distance from Steve, he just can’t bring himself to do it. So instead he pushes back the blanket and sits up in the bed.

A strand of Steve’s hair is flopped forward, falling into his eyes. TJ longs to reach out and tuck it back into place, to run his fingers along Steve’s jaw, to pull him close. It’s weird how this one little detail, a strand of hair out of place in Steve’s otherwise perfectly kempt coif, could affect him like this.

“Of course, Steve.” He realizes he’s biting his lip and forces himself to let go and smile instead. “It was the least I could do. Plus, you know, I did get some pretty damn good sex out of it too.”

Steve laughs quietly. “Glad I could make it worth your while.” 

“You _are_ worth the while,” TJ says to himself once Steve is out of earshot before scooting down and pulling the covers up over his head again.

***

TJ’s sound asleep when Steve comes back inside from checking the perimeter. Steve could go for a nap right now, too. He wants desperately to close his eyes and catch up on some much-needed rest, but he’s got to fight to keep himself awake. He has a task, to keep TJ safe, and he can’t do that if they’re both asleep.

So instead he helps himself to a package of Oreo cookies and heads to the living room. There aren’t any books in the safe house, but there is a small collection of DVDs. A few of the movies are on the list Tony and Clint had come up with, and Steve picks one that looks interesting and pops it into the player. He settles on the couch, which is not as comfortable as it looks, carefully seating himself so he has a clear view out the front and side windows.

He was hoping for entertainment and a bit of action, and this movie certainly does not disappoint. It’s a bit silly in some parts, but it’s fun, and particularly for Steve, given his unique personal history, well … he can see why Clint put it on the list.

He hears TJ stirring in the other room just as Marty McFly tries to order a Tab in the soda shop.

“A fitting choice of movie for you,” TJ says, amusement in his voice, while Biff and his gang are harassing George about math homework. Steve turns to see him leaning in the doorway.

“I met quite a few Biffs in my day.” He lifts his feet off the couch’s armrest to make room for TJ and gestures for him to join. As soon as TJ has sat down, he lays his legs across the couch again, over TJ.

“Hey, you big oaf!” TJ shoves at Steve’s legs ineffectually. 

Steve just chuckles. “Have a good nap?”

“Yeah, too good.” TJ scrubs a hand over his face, rubs at his eyes. “Probably gonna be awake all night now. God, being in your thirties _sucks_.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Steve shoots back. When TJ rolls his eyes at him, he grins back.

“You’ll get there.”

“I know a thing or two about sleeping too long, though.” He hadn’t meant to ruin the levity of the moment; the words had slipped out before he’d had a chance to filter. He regrets it immediately.

TJ lobs a pillow at him. “Geez, Steve. I left you the _perfect_ opening to offer to keep me occupied staying up all night, but no, you had to go and be all serious.”

“We – we can’t do that here. I have to protect you.”

“We will be protected – that’s what condoms are for,” TJ shoots back.

“I mean it would be a distraction.”

“You’re saying you’d be too distracted to protect me from the bad guys if your cock is buried balls-deep in my warm, tight ass?” His tone is practically dripping with insinuation.

He holds Steve’s gaze, his expression completely blank. Steve blinks back.

Steve is the first to crack, tossing back the pillow TJ had thrown at him. TJ bats it away with a laugh, and soon they’re both caught in a fit of giggles that neither seems to be able to fight. 

The laughter slowly subsides as each tries to catch their breath, fading into silence, and it’s TJ who finally speaks again.

“Man, we should be watching The Bodyguard instead of Back To the Future.”

Steve cocks his head to the side. “I haven’t heard of that one.”

TJ grins and pats his leg before shoving both aside to get up. “Put it on the list, Cupcake. I’m starving. You probably are too, huh? I’m gonna go see if I can find something edible in those cans.”

TJ doesn’t wait for a reply from Steve; he’s already halfway to the tiny kitchen before Steve realizes that he is, in fact, also quite hungry.

“You want a hand?” Steve calls after him.

“Nah, think I can manage. Besides,” TJ calls from the kitchen, “there isn’t enough room in here for the two of us, not with your giant triangle shoulders.”

Steve huffs. “Suit yourself,” he calls back and settles into the couch cushions again.

TJ returns a little while later, as Marty is explaining to the Doc that he needs 1.21 gigawatts of energy to get back to 1985, carrying two plates of spaghetti covered with marinara sauce. Tucked into the crook of his elbow is a canister of parmesan.

Steve’s stomach gurgles in anticipation.

TJ hands Steve a plate – the one with the larger portion, he notes gratefully – and settles back down on the couch next to Steve.

“Hmm, wow, this is really good, considering,” Steve says around a mouthful of pasta.

There’s a huff from TJ, and he swallows before replying. “Thanks? My powers of boiling water and heating up a jar of sauce are unparalleled.” He takes another bite, chews and swallows again before adding, “I used to date a guy who was on one of those cooking shows. I can’t tell you which for confidentiality reasons, but I did learn a thing or two from him. Not that there’s a lot to work with here, but …” He ends the sentence with a shrug, twirls some more pasta around his fork and shoves it in his mouth.

“Bucky’s ma used to make us help her make noodles. God, I hated that. Used to get flour _everywhere_. But it still beat having colcannon every day.” Steve smiles at the memory: Bucky’s hair white from the flour, his baby sister Mary trying to grab the noodle dough off the table, the fits of coughing when he’d accidentally inhale the flour, the way the dough felt as he kneaded it. It was hard work, and the days they had noodles in their soup were special. Boy, times sure have changed. He twirls the spaghetti on his plate idly, watches the sauce swirl around a few times, before he finally lifts the fork to his mouth.

TJ’s watching him, he realizes mid-chew, and he looks up.

“You’ve got some sauce,” Steve says, reaching up to wipe it off the corner of TJ’s mouth with his thumb, “right there.” He lets his hand linger, traces down TJ’s chin.

“Spaghetti with sauce is a terrible date food.”

Steve smiles and carefully sets his plate on the coffee table before he slips his hand around TJ’s neck and pulls him in for a kiss. There’s a moment of hesitation before TJ returns it.

He returns it eagerly when he does, though, his tongue licking into Steve’s mouth, hands wandering up Steve’s back, down his chest, across his arms. TJ’s shifting closer until their bodies are pressed together, he’s practically in Steve’s lap, and Steve knows he needs to stop this, can’t let it go on.

He has to protect TJ. He can’t allow himself to be distracted.

As much as he wants this, he should put a stop to it.

But now TJ’s hand is on his crotch and he’s rubbing and geez that feels good– 

That’s when Steve’s cellphone rings.

He jolts upright. TJ grumbles about getting a knee in his stomach, but Steve is too busy getting his phone to respond to TJ’s complaints.

“Rogers,” he says as he flips it open.

“Hey Cap.”

Steve lets out a breath. “Natasha. How do you – only Secret Service is supposed to have this number.”

“Steve, please.” Steve can practically hear her shrugging off his question. 

“Is everything alright? Should I get my gear on?” He’s already heading towards the door, where his shield is propped against the wall.

“Easy, soldier. Just thought you should know that Tony and Rhodes have located the president and he’s been brought to safety. The all-clear hasn’t been given, which is why Wentworth hasn’t contacted you yet, but I figured you might want to hear it.”

“Thanks, Natasha, yeah, I appreciate it. I’ll let TJ know.”

“You do that.” There’s amusement in her tone. They haven’t spoken since the evening of the gala at the Smithsonian, but if she got this number she probably knows how it came to be that Steve is here with TJ. She doesn’t sound too bothered by it.

Definitely not, if her next words are anything to go by. “Well, Cap, enjoy your evening then.”

“Bye, Natasha,” Steve says with a roll of his eyes and a smile before he closes the phone again.

“What’s up?” TJ asks, pushing himself up from the couch.

“President Ellis is safe. Colonel Rhodes brought him back.”

TJ exhales, pushes a hand through his hair. “Great, that’s great.” He looks up at Steve. “Does that mean we can go home now?”

Steve crosses the room again to where the couch is and stoops to pick up his plate. “Not yet. They’ll need to make sure everything is squared away before they give the green light, and since they don’t have this guy in custody yet, I’m guessing it could take another day or two.”

“Seriously?!” TJ shoves his hands in his pockets and lets himself fall back down onto the couch, then pulls his hands back out and buries his face in them, elbows on his knees.

Steve sits down next to TJ and puts his plate back on the coffee table. He places a hand on TJ’s back in an attempt to offer reassurance, rubbing softly. “I’m sorry, TJ. I know you would rather be having Christmas with your family.”

There’s a huff from behind TJ’s hands. “That’s not even it.” He scrubs his hands down his face slowly, steeples his fingers beneath his chin. His flirty smile spreads slowly over his face as he turns to look at Steve. “Honestly, there’s far worse ways to spend Christmas than with a hot guy like you. Might be nicer somewhere a bit more … cozy, though.”

“You’re incorrigible,” Steve says, giving TJ’s shoulder a playful shove.

TJ picks up his plate and gets up. “My pasta’s gone cold, I’m gonna go nuke it. Want me to take yours too?”

“Yeah, sure,” Steve says as he hands him the plate. “Thanks.”

TJ pokes his head out of the kitchen again a few moments later. “Hey, if the danger’s over, does that mean you’re gonna quit holding out on me?”

There’s a smile to his tone, and Steve laughs. “Incorrigible!”

TJ returns with their reheated pasta and settles next to Steve again. Steve twirls some spaghetti around his fork, drops it again, twirls a smaller amount, raises it to his mouth but stops. 

“I still think it wouldn’t be a good idea for us to … if you and me …”

“Have sex?” TJ offers with a raised eyebrow, looking up at Steve as he puts his fork down.

“Yeah, that. I mean, not while we’re here. We don’t know for sure that the threat is over, and until we do, it’s just too … compromising. I need to be able to keep you safe.”  
TJ seems to consider his words. Finally he reaches out and gives Steve’s hand a quick squeeze. “It’s fine, Steve, I get it. Thank you, for being here to protect me. And I appreciate you being able to resist tapping this-” he gestures to himself “-in order to keep it safe.”

“Well,” Steve says with a chuckle, “it’s a tough job, but someone’s gotta do it.”

They finish their dinner and watch the rest of the movie, which is a lot sillier than Steve had expected but not quite as funny for him as it seems to be for TJ. Steve suspects the 1980s were one of those “you had to be there” things, and a number of the jokes are lost on him. He’s certainly inclined to agree with the characters in the forties that Marty’s vest looks more like a flotation device than fashion. Maybe missing the eighties wasn’t so bad, actually.

The credits are rolling when Steve catches himself yawning. TJ nudges his leg with his knee.

“Tired?”

Steve scrubs a hand over his face. “Yeah, actually.” He glances at the clock on the wall to the kitchen. 11:45 PM. “It’s late.”

“We’d better get to bed then,” TJ replies, the tips of his fingers trailing up Steve’s thigh.

Steve shoots him a look, one eyebrow raised. Just a simple touch, fingertips on his thigh, and his synapses are all firing, his heart pumping faster, blood flowing … well, not to his head. He momentarily regrets his resolve that they not have sex – TJ’s safety comes before physical desires, he reminds himself – before pushing that urge down again.

“Come on,” TJ says, already getting up. “Bedtime. To sleep,” he clarifies sleepily.

***

Steve takes his time getting up off the couch, and TJ has already changed into his sleep pants and brushed his teeth by the time Steve makes it to the bedroom.

TJ’s put his freak-out from this afternoon behind him. It would be pointless and stupid to try to put space between them right now, since they are literally stuck here together until the Secret Service decides it’s safe for them to leave. So might as well enjoy the time. Dwelling on problems takes so much energy. And it’s always gotten TJ in trouble in the past, so he’s going to go ahead and not do that.

So instead, when Steve finally slips into the bed, TJ scoots back and pulls Steve’s arm across him. He likes it warm when he sleeps, and Steve is like a human furnace. TJ can’t remember the last time he shared a bed with someone when it wasn’t right after sex. It’s kinda nice.

***

TJ shifts his position on the couch, flops over so his head is in Steve’s lap and looks up. “Steve. Steeeeeeve. I’m bored and it’s Christmas and I’m sick of food that comes from a can or a package.” 

It’s an understandable complaint. It’s late in the afternoon – they’re almost through Back to the Future 2, and breakfast had been a rather disappointing bowl of microwave oatmeal.

“I want crabcakes. We’re in Maryland. We have to have crabcakes.”

Steve smiles in amusement as he replies, “We’re not supposed to leave the house.”

TJ pulls himself up, climbs into Steve’s lap and pouts theatrically. “Hot, flaky, perfectly spiced crabcakes. Best way to eat crab. Totally worth breaking the rules for.”

“I am tasked with keeping you safe, TJ Hammond. I’m not going to compromise that for crabcakes.”

“Oh come on.” TJ’s hands come up to cradle Steve’s face, squeezing his cheeks lightly. “You’re _Captain America,_ for god’s sake. You can keep me safe anywhere. Besides, they already got Ellis back, so it’s pretty much over.” 

“I have orders for us to stay in this house.”

“Oh pleeeeeeease, Steve. Tell me you never disobeyed an order…”

Steve lets out a huff, pushes TJ up off his lap. “Alright, you got me there. But I’m taking my shield.”

“Yessssss.” TJ pumps the air victoriously as he steps into his shoes.

They take the Camry into town and end up at a little diner in town that claims to have “THE BEST BURGERS IN TOWN,” but more importantly, it’s the only place open on Christmas Day. It doesn’t look like much from the outside, but it’s cozy inside and pretty much the embodiment of the word “quaint.” It’s also practically empty, just an elderly couple in one of the booths and two over-the-hill truckers nursing coffee at the counter.

The waitress plunks two mugs and a pot of coffee on their table without even asking, and TJ kind of loves her for it. That, and the warm, friendly smile on her face when she asks, “Hi boys, how are ya today?”

Steve glances up from his menu and pulls out his best Steve Rogers smile – the one that makes TJ’s heart pound faster and probably earned the war effort quite a few bond sales.

“Great, thank you, Allie,” he replies after a quick glance at her name tag. “Merry Christmas.”

Allie’s smile softens to a genuine one. “Thank you. You too, hun. So, what can I get you fellas?”

“I’ll have the crabcakes. Please,” TJ adds, because it’s Christmas and it must suck to be working today.

“I’d like the Chesapeake omelette, please, and, uh, a cheeseburger with mushrooms. And sweet potato fries.”

“And an order of crabcakes for him, too,” TJ pipes up.

“Sure thing, hun. Hungry fella, huh?”

“I gotta keep my protein levels up,” Steve replies with a shrug.

TJ tries desperately not to choke on the laughter he’s trying to keep in, his mouth carefully hidden behind his hand. Steve nudges him in the shin below the table.

“I’ll bet,” Allie says, eyeing Steve’s arms with a raised brow. “Anything to drink for you guys besides the coffee?” 

“Nah, this is great, Allie. Thank you.”

Allie returns Steve’s smile as she collects their menus.

“You want me to leave so you can get her number?” TJ asks, an amused tone in his voice. He’s pretty sure that Allie, while attractive in her own way, isn’t the girl Steve would go for if he were going for a girl, and even if she were, he’s even more sure that Steve, well-mannered relic-from-a-kinder-time Steve, wouldn’t be so brash as to do it in front of TJ.

Steve smiles, that bashful smile that makes TJ want to smother him either with a pillow for being so damn perfect or with kisses, and looks up at TJ through his eyelashes. “A little kindness goes a long way.”

“Yeah, I bet you just made her day.”

Steve shrugs, feigning innocence.

“You were angling for extra fries, weren’t you? You old dog.” TJ wads up his napkin and tosses it at Steve’s head. Steve blocks it effortlessly. Under the table, TJ feels Steve’s leg brush up against his, the touch very deliberate. He looks up and catches Steve’s eyes on him.

“I don’t need her number,” Steve says, his voice low, his tone serious. “I got yours.”

_This man is going to be the death of me,_ TJ thinks. It’s nice, sitting here in this diner, with its lumpy booth benches and chintzy decor (seriously, guys, what’s with the Thomas Kinkade knock-off seascapes?). It’s dark enough that they probably won’t get recognized, especially not in this garish flannel jacket TJ found in the closet of the safe house. Plus no one would be looking for him here anyway - what would TJ Hammond be doing in a diner in Podunktown, Maryland? Nope, for the rest of the world, they’re just two dudes out for a burger. 

Unless Steve keeps looking at him with those goddamn heart eyes, because then they are totally going to get made.

***

Steve ends up being pretty glad he’d let TJ talk him into going out for dinner. The crab cakes were delicious, for one, and the whopping side of fries Allie brought them was _much_ better than anything in the shelves of nonperishables in the safe house. Plus TJ seems far more at ease now. The mood he’d been having when they’d first gotten to the safe house is a thing of the past; he’s smiling again, which makes breaking the rules well worth it in Steve’s eyes.

They get back to the house, both too full to do more than lie together on the couch, not really paying attention the movie. TJ’s sprawled out half on top of, half next to Steve, curled into the crook of Steve’s arm as Steve idly runs his hands through TJ’s hair. His eyes are half-closed, his breathing even, his right hand splayed out on Steve’s chest, right over Steve’s heart.

“You ever regret doing it? You know, the serum?” TJ asks without turning to face Steve. He sounds like he’s half-asleep too.

On the screen, Marty has just burnt the almanac and the future is changing back to what Marty had been hoping for.

Steve takes a deep breath. “No. When I was little, all I wanted was to be able to make a difference. Now I can.”

“And the ice?”

That one he has to think about for a moment. “No, and yes. I don’t regret helping all those people by stopping that plane. It was my choice to put that plane down in the ice, and I’d make that same choice again if I had to.”

There’s a pause before TJ speaks again. “But you regret coming out of the ice? Being found?”

It’s the question Steve hasn’t ever dared to ask himself. Maybe because he’s afraid of the answer he might come up with. 

“When I woke up, everything I’d known was gone. It’s a whole different world now, and sometimes it feels impossible to deal with. But on the other hand, just because things are different now doesn’t mean they’re worse. Bucky’s ma used to say ‘things happen for a reason.’ I like to think maybe she was right. When I went under, there was a war on. We had a mission; there wasn’t any time for personal matters. That’s why me and Peggy, we never … But now there’s no big war, and times have changed now, so here I am.” He gives TJ a light squeeze. “Now there’s time to be happy too.”

He feels TJ’s body vibrate as he chuckles. “You’re a big sap, Steve Rogers.”

Steve responds by giving TJ another squeeze and mussing his hair. TJ swats his hand away, but it’s a half-hearted attempt and Steve ignores it.

Silence spreads between them. TJ doesn’t seem to be watching the movie, nor is Steve. Steve wonders what’s on TJ’s mind for him to have asked that question. Was it just curiosity brought up by the movie? He can’t help but wonder if TJ is thinking of his own experiences, having twice been close to dying. Does TJ regret having been found? He’s not sure if it’s his place to ask, though. If TJ wanted to talk about it, he’d probably say something, wouldn’t he?

TJ lets out a long yawn as the credits are rolling, and Steve prods him in the ribs.

“Come on, McFly, let’s get you to bed.”

TJ grumbles but peels himself off the couch. Steve follows, watching with a smile, as he stumbles down the hall, shedding articles of clothing haphazardly (which Steve picks up along the way, because clothes shouldn’t be left lying about). They brush their teeth together, TJ hip-checking Steve so that he can get to the sink and Steve lifting TJ and depositing him (which TJ protests half-heartedly) outside the bathroom when TJ hogs the sink too long.

When Steve finishes in the bathroom, TJ’s already curled up in the middle of the bed, so Steve slips under the covers behind him. He tucks his head into the crook of TJ’s neck and closes his eyes. It feels good, holding TJ in his arms, breathing in his scent, feeling his heart beat. 

This, right here, this is what Steve wants. He wants to go to bed in the evenings with TJ and wake up with him again in the mornings. He wants to talk about their days over coffee and he wants to pretend to be bothered when TJ makes comments and jokes as they watch all those movies on his list. He wants to hear TJ play the piano and he wants to sketch out all those beautiful lines of TJ’s body, and then he wants to map them out with his tongue.

The idea of it seems incredible to Steve, but also a bit terrifying. He’s never had that before. All his prior attempts at a relationship ended with someone dying. Or, well, being frozen for a really long time.

He pushes the thought aside, pulls TJ a little closer, presses a kiss against his jaw. “Goodnight, TJ.”

“Night, Steeve,” TJ mumbles.

***

TJ wakes up to find the bed next to him empty. All lingering sleepiness suddenly gone, he sits up and runs his hand through his hair as he looks around the room.

Steve’s bag is gone. 

The clothes he’d dropped in the hall last night are laid carefully over the edge of his bag.

It’s quiet in the house.

He pushes back the covers and gets up, wincing at the cold of the tile floor against his bare feet. He pulls on a T-shirt as he makes his way to the living room, tries to push down the rising panic.

Where is Steve? Why isn’t he here? He’s supposed to be protecting TJ, how the fuck is he supposed to do that if he’s _not here_? Steve had gotten a phone call from Natasha saying that the danger was over, but there’d been no word from Secret Service. What if the call had been fake, a lie to make them feel safe so they’d let down their guard?

But then why would Steve have taken his bag? Maybe he left of his own accord. TJ runs through the previous evening again in his head – what had he said or done to make Steve leave?

There’s a creaking noise at the side door in the kitchen, and TJ jolts. He ducks behind the doorway and scans the space around him for something he can use as a weapon.

That’s when he spots Steve’s shield, sitting propped up against Steve’s bag, next to the door. What the fuck? He grabs the shield – wow, it’s lighter than it looks – and holds it in front of himself. The door opens, and TJ, in his unparalleled bravery, cringes behind the shield.

“TJ?”

He looks up over the rim of the shield to see Steve standing in the doorway, a paper bag in one hand. His hair is wet with sweat and he’s wearing running pants and a _ridiculously_ tight workout shirt with a SHIELD logo on the sleeve. There’s an amused smile on his face.

“Whatcha doin’, TJ?”

TJ stands up straight, lowers the shield and tries his best to seem casual. “Didn’t hear you leave. Thought something might have happened.”

Steve’s smile fades, replaced by a look of apologetic concern as he crosses the tiny space of the kitchen towards where TJ is standing, dropping the bag on the counter on the way. “Oh god, I’m sorry. I left a note, I guess you didn’t see it? On the nightstand.”

Of course he left a note. Steve … TJ shakes his head. “No, didn’t look that way. Just saw you were gone and …”

Steve steps closer to TJ, raises his arms as if he’s about to embrace TJ but stops halfway. “Sorry you were worried. I’d hug you, but I was just out running and I’m kind of …”

“Stinky?” TJ offers with a half-smile.

Steve huffs out a laugh and shrugs. “I was going to say sweaty, but yeah, probably that too. I’m gonna go grab a shower. Wentworth called about thirty minutes ago with the all-clear, by the way,” he says as he steps past TJ on his way to the bathroom. “Wouldn’t have left you if it hadn’t been safe to do so. Wentworth says they’re gonna send someone for extraction- uh, to pick us up.” Steve disappears into the bathroom but keeps talking. “Should be here in about an hour. There’s bagels in the bag. Wasn’t sure what you like, so I got a couple.”

TJ turns his attention to the bag of bagels when he hears the shower turn on. There’s sesame with butter and tomato – boring – cinnamon raisin with cream cheese – yuck, raisins – a BLT on a poppy bagel – too many calories – and an everything bagel with ham – jackpot. He helps himself to half and takes it with him to the bedroom, chewing as he stuffs his clothes back into his bag. 

Come to think of it, though, he could use a shower too. Especially the kind that involves a naked, wet Steve pressed up against him in a confined space. Now that Wentworth has given the all-clear, no reason Steve can’t get a little distracted, eh? He shoves the last bit of bagel in his mouth before tugging his shirt over his head.

“Mind if I join you?” he calls through the door, knocking before he opens it.

“Definitely not,” Steve replies, though there’s hesitation in his voice.

It becomes clear why when TJ enters the bathroom and sees Steve standing in the shower stall, and it’s not out of concern about distraction.

“Not sure we’ll both fit, though.”

There’s barely enough room for Steve to turn around in there. It hadn’t seemed so small when TJ had showered yesterday, but then again, he has normal-human-sized shoulders.

He can’t help but laugh at the image before him: Captain America bested by a tiny shower, struggling to reach the bottle of shampoo standing in the corner because there isn’t room to bend down.

“You know what, I’ll wait.” He heads back into the bedroom reluctantly and finishes packing while Steve showers, trying his hardest not to get too distracted by the thought of Steve in the shower.

God, it’s been what, 36 hours since they had sex (granted, it was _incredibly_ hot sex) back at TJ’s, and here he is, barely able to control his hormones like a freaking fifteen-year-old. 

Steve emerges in a cloud of steam a few minutes later, the bathroom light behind him casting a freaking halo around him, and TJ could swear he hears a choir singing in the background or something.

“All yours,” Steve says, or at least TJ thinks that’s what he says, because TJ is way too busy watching his favorite super soldier cross the room with just a towel slung loosely around his hips, leaving just enough to the imagination.

TJ forces himself to stop staring, gets up, steps out of his pants. “Thanks,” he says as he heads to the bathroom, not at all bothering to hide the raging hard-on he’s sporting, well aware that this time, it’s Steve who is staring.

***

Steve is incredibly glad for Agent Falzone’s arrival just a few minutes after TJ gets in the shower, if only because it is exactly what he needs to refocus his mind. Ever since the all-clear had come in from Wentworth, all Steve has been able to think about is how much he wants to peel TJ’s clothes off his body and explore every inch of it, preferably with his tongue. He’d hoped going for a run would help, but it had not, and things had only gotten worse when he’d come back to find TJ holding his shield. And then TJ had just waltzed across the room, his dick practically asking to be licked, and Steve had just about lost it.

But Agent Falzone is straightforward and all business, and Steve has a debrief to give (he carefully leaves out the Crabcake Adventure). Steve leads him on a walkthrough of the house, then realizes his glaring mistake at covering his tracks – the bed in the second bedroom, the one Steve should have been sleeping in, still looks perfectly unslept-in. Yeah, it was a breach of protocol for Steve to share the same bed as TJ, even if being in the same room could have made it easier and quicker for him to provide protection for TJ, had it been necessary.

Falzone’s giving him a look of disapproval and disdain, and Steve feels a flare of anger course through him. Hey, the alternative would have been TJ deciding to opt out of having any security at all if Steve hadn’t convinced him otherwise, so Falzone should get off his high horse. His back muscles are tensed, Steve realizes, and he’s balling his fists. He forces himself to relax, unclenches his fists and shoves them in his pockets.

Not the time or place, Rogers, he reminds himself.

“I told Steve he didn’t have to remake the bed, but he wouldn’t listen to me.” TJ’s standing in the doorway of the bedroom, buttoning up his shirt. His hair is still wet from his shower. “Old Army habits die hard, I guess,” he says with a casual shrug.

Falzone blinks, his expression the schooled blank look Steve has seen Natasha use many times. 

TJ buttons the second-from-top button of his shirt and looks up at Falzone. “Well, I’m ready to get the hell out of this hole. There’s no place like home, as they say.”

“Secretary Barrish has asked for you to be brought to her house.”

***

TJ squeezes his eyes shut. So, no escaping Christmas with the family, then. He opens his eyes again with a glare at nothing in particular, then nods. “Alright.” he finally says. “We can drop Steve off on the way.”

“She has asked for both of you to be brought there.”

“Uh, oh. Okay.” TJ hadn’t exactly been planning to bring his new guy home to meet the parents yet. Or ever. Not that Steve is “his guy.” He’s just _a_ guy, a guy TJ’s hooked up with a few times. A guy who just happened to be over when TJ was being taken to the safe house. A guy who volunteered to keep TJ safe. A guy who offered to give his life to protect TJ’s if necessary.

Okay, maybe he’s more than “just a guy.” 

He looks to Steve, who nods in acknowledgement. “It would be an honor to meet Secretary Barrish and President Hammond.”


	5. A Hammond Family Dinner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look, it's Valentine's Day. Hope your day is fluffier than these boys'... I swear, these two will talk about their Relationship one of these days (it is not this day).
> 
> Fitz_y worked beta-reading wonders once again - yay, thanks fitz_y!
> 
> Comments and kudo nourish my _soul_ and are greatly appreciated.

“I should warn you,” TJ tells Steve as they stand in front of his mother’s house. He’s holding off on ringing the bell just yet since he feels like he needs to give Steve a bit of a heads-up. Falzone has just dropped them off, so this will be the only chance they’ll have to talk without anyone else listening. And they do need to talk. They should have talked about it, since it’s bound to come up. What are they? Friends? Fuck buddies? Boyfriends? But there’s no time now for that kind of discussion and besides, TJ has no clue what he wants. Things get messy when he lets someone in, and he’s not sure he can handle that yet.

“My family can be a little … well, let’s just say they spend a little too much time thinking about what they can do for their country and not enough time thinking about others.”

Steve nods as if he understands, but TJ can’t help but think that there’s no way he could understand, not until he’s met them. They mean well, his family, at least most of the time, but all too often they get so caught up in doing what’s best for the family name that they lose sight of what’s best for the family _members_.

“They’ll probably try to rope you into the campaign or something. Just … don’t feel like you have to do something you don’t want to just because of their political position or anything.”

Steve smiles at that. “Trust me, I learned that lesson during the war. No more dancing monkey show for me.”

He reaches out and gives TJ’s hand a squeeze, and he looks like he’s about to lean in for a kiss when the door opens.

“TJ! You’re here!” his mother announces, a bit too loudly, before she pulls him in for a hug that’s tighter than usual. “Merry Christmas, TJ. I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“Thanks, Mom.” TJ loosens his stance a bit, returns some of the fierceness of the hug. “You too. You guys got through alright?”

His mother lets him go, steps back far enough to wave a hand dismissively. “Yeah, of course. Agent Wentworth made sure we were well taken care of. I’m just glad Matthew made it out alright.”

That’s when she sees Steve and immediately pastes on her politician smile. “Oh good, you brought your guest.”

“Mom, this is Steve.”

“Madam Secretary,” Steve says with a polite nod and extends his hand to offer a handshake.

“I must say, Captain, when Agent Wentworth told me TJ had opted to forgo a Secret Service detail, I was pretty upset. I’m glad it was actually a pretty good choice he was making. Thank you for your assistance.”

There she is, at it already, TJ thinks with a frown as he watches his mother give Steve her patented Elaine Barrish, Politician Par Excellence, handshake-shoulder-clasp-and-a-smile. 

They haven’t even made it in the door yet, and she’s already trying to win Steve over for her team. And of course she is – Captain America is a great face to have on your side. As long as TJ doesn’t go and screw it up by dragging Steve’s name into the gossip rags. “HAMMOND TURNS CAP GAY” is sure to sell a whole lot of papers, but it isn’t going to earn her much favor with the swing voters.

Christ, TJ is so fucking sick of it.

“Thank you, Madam Secretary. It was my pleasure. Just glad to be of help.” Steve looks a bit star struck, poor guy. There’s a hint of a blush creeping up his neck, and he’s floundering for words. “And glad to hear that you and the rest of your family were safe.”

So TJ stands on the doorstep to his mother’s house and watches her schmoozing up his _whatever-Steve-and-he-are_ as the snow starts to swirl. It’s fucking cold, and all he really wants right now is one of Nana’s cranberry martinis. Or ten.

No, TJ, one is enough.

“Geez, Ma, let the poor guy come in before you start politicking.” TJ pushes past her into the house, already unwinding his scarf as he turns to gesture for Steve to follow.

“Yes, please, come inside.”

“Thank you, Madam Secretary,” Steve says with a deferential nod, pausing to wipe his shoes before stepping over the threshold.

“Please, call me Elaine. Come inside, it’s cold out.”

TJ takes Steve’s coat and hangs it next to his in the hall closet. When he comes out, his mother has already led Steve into the living room and is introducing him.

“Doug, Anne, this is Captain Steve Rogers, the kind young man who volunteered to provide security for TJ.”

“Good to meet you, Steve. Doug Hammond, TJ’s better-looking twin.”

“You wish,” Anne says with a smirk as she elbows Doug in the ribs. “Good to see you again, Steve. Didn’t get a chance to say goodbye at the gala.”

Steve’s eyes dart down to his feet before he looks up to Anne again. “Yeah, I, uh, got called away. Nice to see you again now, and good to meet you, Doug. TJ’s told me a lot about you.”

“Oh yeah?” Doug raises his eyebrow and looks to TJ.

“I hear you’re a master lightsaber swordsman.”

“Well, certainly nothing in comparison to the way you wield a shield. Or Thor with his hammer.”

Doug’s cracking up, and TJ wants to vomit. This is how it begins, how his family get their hooks into someone. 

“Captain Rogers, it’s good to meet you,” TJ’s dad announces as he breezes into the room, Nana behind him.

“President Hammond. It’s an honor.” Steve looks like he’s torn between offering a handshake or saluting, or maybe bowing. What a dork.

“Bud is fine, thank you,” his dad offers as he clasps Steve’s hand and shoulder with a smile. “And the honor is mine. I’ve read about what you and your Commandos achieved. You did this country a great service. Thank you.”

Steve is the embodiment of perfect manners as he deflects the compliment, says he owes it all to his team. Exactly the kind of son-in-law any mother would want for her daughter, TJ imagines. And Captain America – man, if TJ were a girl, his parents would be planning the wedding already.

Nana seems particularly taken by Steve – makes sense, they’re about the same generation – and soon she’s got him wrapped up in a deep conversation about her time as a showgirl.

As he does when he feels his mood going south, TJ heads to the piano to distract himself. He’s plunking out Tchaikovsky’s “Nutcracker Suite” in the hopes that the upbeat notes will rub off on him when Anne sidles over and sits down next to him on the piano bench.

“Hey Teege,” she says, nudging his shoulder lightly with hers. “You alright?”

TJ looks up from the keys but keeps playing, pastes on a smile for her. “Yeah. Peachy.”

She shoots him a look. She knows him too well to take his bullshit.

He takes a deep breath. They’ve come a long way, Anne and him. They’re the outsiders of the family, not part of the “family business,” just involved by relation. Though Anne deserves a lot more credit for that than TJ does – she’s here by choice, after all, and TJ, well, the fact that he’s still here isn’t for lack of trying. They’ve both been through some rough times in the past years, and it’s been Anne more often than not who’s helped TJ get through them. And he’s helped her, he likes to think. Coke and bulimia aren’t exactly birds of a feather, but they are both addictions of a sort, and Anne and him, they _get_ each other in a way the rest of the family don’t. 

So when Anne asks if he’s okay, a “fine” isn’t going to cut it.

“Just got some stuff I need to figure out.”

TJ turns his attention back to the keys.

“I can see the way he looks at you, Teege,” Anne says, quiet enough that only he can hear it. “He’s just as into you as you are into him.”

TJ looks up briefly, bites down a smile, forces himself to focus on the keys instead after he misses a note. He hasn’t been practicing enough, he chides himself.

“TJ,” his mother says, her tone slightly perturbed. She’s across the room, scrolling through her ever-present Blackberry, with Doug at her side. “Why don’t you play something a bit calmer?”

Anne places a calming hand on TJ’s thigh. “It’s been a rough few days for everyone,” she says before she gets up to join her husband.

She’s probably right, TJ thinks as he switches to a slowed-down version of “Jingle Bells.” ( _That’s what you get, Ma. I am not a jukebox._ ) Steve stops in the middle of what he’s saying to Nana and turns to look at TJ. The smile he flashes TJ is full of warmth, and TJ can’t help but return it. He wonders if Steve is thinking back to when TJ had played it for him at the apartment – TJ is. 

He winks at Steve, plays a few bars of “All I Want for Christmas is You” in the middle of “Jingle Bells,” then turns his attention back to the piano. 

***

Steve’s watched Natasha in action plenty of times, so he’s no stranger to tactics that can be used to make someone go along with something without realizing they’re being manipulated, but boy, TJ’s family could definitely teach some of the newer SHIELD recruits a thing or two in that field. They’ve barely made it in the door before Steve is whisked away from TJ to meet the rest of the family, and no sooner has he been introduced to TJ’s brother – his mother’s campaign manager – and his father than they’re pressing the flesh.

Steve knows this game, he played it long enough in his days with Senator Brandt, so he goes along with it but doesn’t allow himself to get too wrapped up in their spiel. 

He just wishes there’d been time to stop at his apartment for a change of clothes on the way here. A SHIELD-issue athletic shirt and cargo pants is certainly not what Steve had imagined he’d be wearing when he got the chance to meet the Secretary of State and a former President.

They’re an impressive family, the Hammonds – even if Steve did sleep through Bud Hammond’s presidency and Elaine Barrish’s time as governor, he’s read enough to know what they’ve accomplished. Sure, he’d back them – if he were a regular civilian, that is. But he’s Captain America to the public now, and he’s not going to let anyone use that name for political gain anymore.

He’s glad when TJ’s grandmother swoops over and drags him away. She’s a hoot, and it’s easy for Steve to see why TJ is so fond of her. Maybe it comes with the name, Steve thinks when she introduces herself as Margaret.

“Tell me, Steven, were the girls in your troop as catty as they were in my day?”

Steve smiles as a few memories come to mind. “Well, I don’t know that I’d call it that. There was plenty of competition among the troop, that’s for sure – who had the handsomer beau, who got the better part in the show – everyone wanted to be the one sitting on the motorcycle, but I think all in all ...” Steve pauses when he hears TJ switch to a different song, and he can’t help but smile. Maybe it’s odd to get sentimental about “Jingle Bells,” but Steve’s okay with that. 

TJ looks up from the keys and catches Steve’s gaze, returns the smile, and a sense of happiness floods through Steve. TJ plays the refrain of that other song he’d played for Steve, the one from the nineties, and the thought crosses his mind that this is possibly the best Christmas he’s had since he was a kid.

Which definitely isn’t something he would have imagined feeling a few months ago.

He feels light in a way he hasn’t felt since coming out of the ice, with one notable exception: those nights in Chicago. It’s liberating, this feeling, and he wants to find a way to keep feeling this way. 

“I’m sure they were heartbroken when you didn’t return their advances,” he vaguely hears Margaret saying, her voice seeming far away.

“Sorry, what was that?” Steve forces himself to turn his attention from TJ back to Margaret, who is smiling at him over the rim of her martini glass like she knows something she shouldn’t.

“It’s nice to see TJ smiling again. He’s been through some tough times, but he’s got a heart of gold. Don’t go breaking it, Captain.” Margaret’s eyeing him like a drill sergeant checking if the troops pass muster, and Steve feels himself tense and stand up a bit straighter.

“I don’t intend to, ma’am,” he replies, and he means it. His hands have automatically come to rest on his belt buckle, he realizes, and he forces them into his pockets to make his stance more casual.

“Good. And don’t call me ma’am, that makes me feel old.” She pours another martini into a glass and hands it to Steve.

“Well we can’t have that, _Margaret_ ,” Steve says, raising the glass to her in a toast. “After all, you’re younger than I am.”

“That I am,” she says as she returns the toast. “Drink up. No one survives a Hammond family dinner sober.”

Steve sputters into his drink. Well in that case, this should be interesting.

***

“TJ, will you give me a hand setting the table?”

TJ looks up from the piano at his mother’s words, glances at the mostly set table, lavishly decked out with the good china. It’s most likely being set by Carla, his mother’s housekeeper, who’s probably in the kitchen right now, also cooking their dinner. He looks to his mother, who’s got that smile on that she wears when she’s trying to be motherly. Shit, nothing good ever comes of that look.

“Yeah, sure.” He closes the fall and pushes himself up from the seat reluctantly.

Twenty-four steps. That’s all it takes to get to the kitchen, but damn if they aren’t twenty-four really hard steps to take (not as tough as the Twelve, but getting there). TJ can’t help but feel like he’s walking into an ambush. 

As expected, Carla is at the stove, pouring the gravy into serving dishes, and TJ gives her a friendly wave as he enters the kitchen. His mother is at the kitchen island, holding a maroon cloth napkin in one hand and a white one with navy blue edging in the other.

“TJ, you’re good at this kind of thing. Which do you think would be better?”

“That one,” he replies, pointing to the maroon one. He knows it was just a way to get him into the kitchen, but he can’t help feeling a little peeved that, once again, she’s treating him like a walking stereotype. Like having an eye for colors is the only thing he can contribute besides ambient piano music. “The other one isn’t very Christmas-y.”

“Thank you,” she says and pulls the rest of the napkins out of the drawer. 

TJ crosses the space between them and picks up a napkin, folds it so it can be set in a wine glass and places it on the counter.

A brief moment of silence. Wait for it ...

“TJ.” There it is, the ambush. “Why was Steve Rogers at your apartment?”

He forces himself to focus on folding the napkin, to reply in his most casual tone of voice, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. He doesn’t know for sure how to qualify this thing between him and Steve – they haven’t talked about it. And he definitely doesn’t want to call it something to his mother that it turns out not to be. So he opts for the safer route. “He needed a friend, so he came over. Tony Stark is a friend of his, and we all thought he was dead.”

“Why was he at _your_ apartment?”

“He needed a friend,” TJ repeats matter-of-factly.

Elaine stops folding the napkin she’s holding and shoots him a look, the “cut the crap and answer my question” look that’s usually reserved for obstructionist Senators and wayward foreign leaders with dictatorial tendencies.

“We met at the gala. He just moved to DC, so he doesn’t know a lot of people here.”

Elaine sighs, clearly not buying his lie (incomplete truth) but maybe not wanting to press the matter further. “TJ,” she starts, laying a hand on his wrist. “Just be careful, okay? I don’t want to see you get hurt or get your hopes up. You know he can’t give you what you want.”

TJ feels tears prickle at the corners of his eyes and pulls his hand away. _You don’t know that,_ he wants to say. _What if he can?_ he wants to say. _You have no idea what I want,_ he wants to say. _He is what I want,_ he wants to say.

“I’ve got it under control,” he says instead.

***

“So, Steve,” Doug starts, appearing behind his grandmother. He tucks his phone into his pocket and begins pouring out a drink for himself. “Tell me, how did you and my brother meet?”

Steve’s mid-sip and feels the liquid burn the back of his throat as he swallows wrong. The question comes seemingly out of nowhere – Doug had just been lamenting how drab the “Christmas dinner” he and Anne had had at their safe house was and Steve had mentioned his and TJ’s spaghetti-with-meat-sauce meal. 

He coughs, trying to clear his throat, trying to come up with a passable story for how he and TJ met. “He took me home from the airport and we had passionate sex multiple times” probably isn’t the answer he should give. They haven’t discussed what, if anything, they’re going to tell TJ’s family about the nature of their relationship, and Steve thinks it isn’t his place to spill the beans if TJ doesn’t want them to know. Never mind the fact that it would also mean spilling the beans on his own sexual orientation, and he’s not sure if he’s ready for that. That doesn’t strike him as the sort of thing one should talk about after just meeting someone.

“At the gala, Dougie,” Anne says, giving her husband’s ribs a playful poke. “Remember, the one you gave TJ your ticket for because _you_ didn’t want to go with me?”

Steve nods enthusiastically in agreement, grateful that he’s been saved from having to come up with something.

“Oh, right.” He’s using that tone people use when they aren’t buying someone’s response. “And you hit it off so you happened to be at his apartment when the Secret Service showed up and figured you’d volunteer to be his security detail?”

“Seemed the best way I could help.” Steve shrugs and takes another sip of his drink, more carefully this time so he doesn’t choke again.

He hears the heavy footsteps of an agitated person before the door to the kitchen flies open and TJ storms through, making a beeline for the drinks cart. His hands are shaking slightly as he pours himself a drink, Steve notes, and his eyes are watery. TJ takes a long sip of the martini, his eyes closed as he swallows.

***

The cranberry martini is just the right mix of sweet and sour, and TJ savors the way the cold alcohol slides down his throat. It’s only when he opens his eyes again that he notices Anne, Doug, Nana and Steve all watching him.

“What?” he asks reproachfully.

“Steve was just about to tell us how you two met.”

What the fuck?! This family seriously needs to get their priorities straight, TJ thinks as he sets his empty glass down again a little too hard. “Why is everyone in this family so concerned about me and Steve? Shouldn’t you be worrying about this Mandarin guy instead, maybe? Or how they managed to hijack and _blow up_ Air Force One?!”

Doug frowns and crosses his arms. “The Mandarin is in custody, the FBI is questioning him right now. Not much _we_ can do there. We’re just curious, Teege. Captain America shows up and volunteers to provide protection for you, it’s natural to want to know how come.”

“Mom says dinner’s almost ready,” TJ grinds out. “We should go sit.”

There’s a huff from Doug and he uncrosses his arms, picks up his glass and turns to head into the dining room.

“I’d like to wash up, if that’s alright. Where’s the restroom?”

Steve’s looking at TJ with that concerned face, like there’s something he wants to say.

“Come on, I’ll show you.”

TJ leads him into the hall, and once they’re out of sight of the rest of the Hammonds, Steve reaches out and takes TJ’s hand.

“I didn’t know what to tell him. Wasn’t sure if you want them to know about ... about us?”

_Us_. What does that even mean? TJ stops to face Steve. This isn’t the time or the place to get into this, but he needs to know.

“What do _you_ want them to know about us? Everyone knows I’m gay – you’re the one with more at stake if people find out.”

Steve takes a deep breath, rubs his thumb over the back of TJ’s hand. His eyes are clear, and he smiles warmly. “I’m okay with your family knowing. The general public – I may need a bit more time on that. But if it’s okay with you, it’s okay with me to tell your family.”

A brief smile spreads over TJ’s face before he bites it back. His heart is racing – he’s elated and also terrified. He can’t help but think back to the last time someone made him this happy, and the shitshow that had turned into.

But then Steve’s lips are on his, and Steve’s hand slips around his waist to pull him close, and Steve is warm and he’s kissing him and Steve is _not_ Sean Reeves and TJ thinks maybe, just maybe he might actually get to be happy this time.

“TJ! Steve!” his father is calling from the other room, and TJ jumps back at the sound of his father’s voice, putting space between him and Steve again. 

“Come on, boys, dinner’s on the table!”

Steve huffs out a quiet laugh. “Better get in there, then.”

TJ runs his tongue over his lips and smiles. “Guess so.”

They still haven’t clarified what “us” means exactly, though. And going in there and telling his family that there’s something going on between them suddenly feels like the last thing in the world TJ wants. If things go to shit between him and Steve ( _which they definitely will_ , his traitorous subconscious tells him), he’s going to be hearing about it forever from them. About how he mucked things up with Captain America, about how he screwed up yet another good thing, about how much of a failure he is.

He reaches out and catches Steve by the wrist. “Hey, but maybe let’s not say anything _tonight_ , alright?”

Steve straightens a little at TJ’s question. There’s a brief pause before he replies. “Alright. If that’s what you want.”

TJ pats Steve’s chest. “We should probably figure out what ‘us’ means first, big guy.”

Then he turns and heads back into the dining room.

***

A Hammond family dinner is an interesting thing to witness. There are four separate conversations running at the same time, it seems, the main one being the recent events involving President Ellis, then President Hammond – Bud – recounting another time he’d had a kidnapping threat, Elaine and Doug talking about poll numbers, and Margaret and TJ discussing an upcoming performance of TJ’s. It’s a bit tough for Steve to follow, but somehow all of the Hammonds are able to weave in and out of each of the conversations, adding their comments before returning to their original discussion. It must come from years of practice in politics, Steve surmises.

The roast is incredible, and the side dishes of roasted vegetables and rosemary potatoes are so much like what his mother would serve on Christmas that Steve has to fight back a pang of emotion as he chews the first mouthful. 

“You okay, Steve?” TJ leans over to ask.

Steve nods, blinks a few times. “It’s really delicious,” he replies once his mouth is sufficiently empty. “Reminds me of Christmas back in the day.”

“All the credit goes to Carla, my housekeeper. She’s a wonder in the kitchen,” Elaine says. “I’ll be sure to pass on the compliments.”

“Thank you,” Steve says before his next bite.

They’ve almost finished dinner when Bud turns the focus back on TJ and him. He’s been regaling the family with the story of where he was brought by Secret Service – he had been at a fundraiser in his old constituency in North Carolina when the information had come in, so he’d been brought to a hotel outside of Raleigh. Along with the woman he had been with, who was apparently still married and her husband was _not pleased_ when he found out where she was.

He tells the story with an amused smile, but Steve can’t help but feel incredibly uncomfortable. He glances to Elaine, who looks fairly unfazed by the story – TJ had told Steve about his parents rather unconventional relationship – though there’s no missing the fact that the smile on her face looks far less natural and she’s only pushing the potatoes around on her plate.

“So then I told the man, listen feller, if she’d rather be here then I think that’s a pretty clear answer, don’t you?” Bud laughs at his joke, sips his wine, and then levels his gaze at TJ. “You know, you still haven’t told us how Steve came to be with you when the call came, TJ.”

TJ sets down his fork. “Why are you all so obsessed with me and Steve?”

The words come out more loudly than standard conversation, and there’s anger in his tone.

“We’re just curious, TJ,” Bud says, spreading his hands to show innocence. “When Captain America shows up in my son’s apartment, it’s natural to be curious.”

TJ drains his glass of wine and tosses his napkin onto his plate. “You know what? You wanna know the truth? You wanna know why Steve was at my apartment?” He shoves back his chair and moves to get up. 

“Because we were hooking up. Yeah, that’s right, your fuck-up son is fucking Captain America. Is that what you wanted to hear? Are you _happy_ now?”

TJ glares around the room at the rest of his family, but doesn’t look at Steve before he sits down again rather forcefully, makes a show of smoothing his napkin across his lap and picks up his fork again.

There’s a shocked silence in the room, no one daring to be the first to speak. Bud catches Steve’s eye and sends him a questioning look, as if he’s looking for confirmation that TJ is actually telling the truth. Steve breaks the gaze; instead, he reaches out to give TJ’s hand a squeeze.

And that’s when Elaine’s cellphone rings. The ringer is “Hail to the Chief”, and Elaine, Bud and Doug all drop their forks seemingly in unison at the sound, their focus shifting from TJ to the ringing phone. 

“We’ll continue this discussion later, Thomas,” Elaine says as she rises from her seat, her tone fiercely calm. “I have to take this.”

She’d announced a “no phones at dinner” policy before they’d sat down, so given the fact that she excuses herself to take the call, plus the tension in the room right now, Steve figures it must be really important.

“Oh,” he hears her saying in the other room. He doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, but last he’d been told, Tony was still fighting the guy who was behind the attacks (apparently the Mandarin had just been a front), so Steve might be needed for backup if things start to turn south. 

He’s also pretty sure TJ’s revelation isn’t the only reason the room has gone silent – Doug for one certainly looks like he’s straining his ears to listen in.

“Well, that’s … unexpected. Not really a surprise, I’d say. Well, that’s for sure. I’ll inform my staffers. No, of course. Alright, thank you for the call. Yes, you too. Have a good evening, Matthew.”

She returns to the dining room a few seconds later, and everyone stops what they were doing when they see the look on her face. It’s a mixture of surprise and vindication, until a smile starts to form and soon she’s holding the door frame for support as she laughs heartily.

“Mom?” Doug asks carefully.

“I always knew there was a reason to hate that son of a bitch.” Elaine dabs at the corner of her eye with sleeve, straightens her blouse and regains her composure.

“What’s up, sugar?” Bud prompts.

Elaine smiles, the smile of a politician who’s just had excellent news. “Collier was behind all this. That rat bastard. Sold the _president_ out to some organization called AIM because they promised to make his daughter healthy.” She crosses the room to where she had been sitting, takes her seat again, lays her napkin across her lap calmly. 

“Vice President Collier has just been arrested for treason.” She picks up her glass of wine, smiles as she raises it to her lips and takes a sip.

“Wow,” Bud exhales. “President Ellis will be looking to appoint a replacement soon.”

“I know.” She glances to Doug. “Let’s finish our dinner. We have work to do.”

***

TJ has never been so glad for a major political upset, if mainly because it draws his family’s attention from him. His mother, brother and father disappear into the study soon after dinner, leaving them with Anne and Nana. They’re the easiest to talk to, and the ones TJ feels most at ease around. TJ’s grateful when they don’t bring up what happened at dinner, even if Nana has a knowing smile on her face when she looks at TJ and is eyeing Steve like she wants to give him the shovel talk. He allows himself to bump his knee against Steve’s as they sit on the couch chatting. Steve looks over to him and smiles, his warmth seeping through his leg until TJ feels like he’s practically radiating with warmth.

Nana gives them each a long hug as they say their goodbyes soon after. “Take care of yourself,” she tells TJ, then gestures between the two of them, “and of each other.”

“It was good to meet you, Margaret,” Steve says as they’re setting out the door.

“You too, Steve. Hope to see more of you.”

“Likewise.” Steve catches TJ’s eye as he says it, and TJ feels his pulse quicken.

It’s just an inevitable response to Steve’s smile, he tells himself. It’s just anticipation because they’re finally getting out of here and go home together and _finally_ get that alone time they’d been hoping for since this morning at the safe house, he tells himself. It’s definitely not because he’s falling for Steve, he tells himself.

It’s a short ride back to TJ’s apartment, but long enough for TJ to get wrapped up in his thoughts again.

_“I’m okay with your family knowing. The general public – I may need a bit more time on that.”_

Steve’s words play over and over in his head. Steve is willing to come out. Just not yet. He hadn’t offered any sort of quantifier – how much time is more time? When will it be a good time? Is this just another way to brush someone off, right up there with promising to leave the wife? TJ needs to know what he’s getting himself into before he can allow himself to quit pushing aside those feelings he’s _definitely not_ developing for Steve.

He shouldn’t have said anything to his family. Should have kept it quiet. Now they know, and this whatever-it-is between him and Steve, it’s no longer _all his own_. His time just being TJ, the precious few moments he actually can just be himself, that’s gone now. Soon his family will swoop in and start _meddling_ , start claiming Steve as one of theirs, and gone will be his happy little secret.

“TJ?” Steve’s voice pulls his attention back into the present, followed by the hand on TJ’s leg.

TJ looks over to see Steve giving him an inquiring look. He forces himself to smile. 

“Hey, about what you said just before dinner, about figuring out what ‘us’ means …” Steve starts, but he leaves the sentence unfinished as if waiting for TJ to supply the rest.

_“I’m okay with your family knowing. The general public – I may need a bit more time on that.”_

It’s only a matter of time, really, before Steve decides he’s not ready – or willing – to come out to the general public. Only a matter of time before this whole thing gets blown to shit. There’s a reason TJ Hammond can’t have nice things.

But maybe, just maybe, he can have it for a little while. So he’s going to take what he can get while he can get it and worry about definitions later, because right now What He Can Get is looking over at him with a friendly smile and a willing demeanor, so TJ is going to go and get it.

He leans over as far as the seatbelt will allow him to, slips a hand around Steve’s neck, and pulls him close for a kiss. There’s a muffled gasp of surprise from Steve, followed by a happy hum, and then Steve is kissing him back just as eagerly. It’s tough to maneuver in the confines of the cab’s backseat, with seatbelts limiting their range of motion, but TJ has a bit of experience in this field and manages to get himself pressed up against Steve, his leg over Steve’s leg to block the cabbie’s view of what he’s doing with his hands.

Steve’s eyes are wide with bewilderment, like he can’t decide whether he’s incredibly scandalized or turned on. Looks like turned on is winning right now, given the way his eyes flicker shut as his head tilts back when TJ slides his hand over-

“Oh look, we’re here,” TJ drawls with a devilish grin as the taxi pulls up in front of his apartment building.

Steve groans, shifts uncomfortably.

“Here,” TJ says as he shoves a few bills at the cabbie, more than enough to cover their fare and a generous tip. “Happy holidays.”

“Thank you, Mr. Hammond,” the cabbie says with a thankful nod. “You too. Have a good evening.”

TJ huffs out a laugh as he slides out of the cab, bracing himself against the cold wind. “Oh, I will,” he says to the night air, watching as Steve gets out of the cab, rounds the back of the car to join TJ on the sidewalk.

TJ doesn’t wait for Steve to say anything, just tugs him by the waist of those ridiculous cargo pants, stepping backwards until he’s up against the door to his building. Steve follows beautifully, cups TJ’s face with both hands to pull him in for a kiss, rolls his hips against TJ.

“Hmm, TJ,” Steve breathes heavily near his ear, lips trailing along his neck, “god, I’ve been thinkin’ about this all day.”

Out of the corner of his eye, TJ sees a group of people walking past, looking at the two figures making out against the wall. “Let’s get inside.”

Steve acknowledges with a nod, pulls away reluctantly to follow TJ into the building and up the stairs. His lips are on TJ again as soon as the apartment door is shut behind them, and it’s a tangle of limbs as they both work their way out of jackets and shoes, kisses and movements growing more insistent.

TJ pulls at Steve’s shirt, anxious to get it off of him. He needs Steve naked, to feel his warm skin pressed up against him, Steve’s muscles under his fingers, flexing as Steve thrusts into him. _God_ this is what he’s been wanting – Steve pressed up against him, Steve’s skin on his, Steve moaning into his ear. All that time in the safe house, hanging out with Steve but _not_ having sex, that was basically really long foreplay. 

There’s a ripping sound as the fabric of Steve’s shirt gives way, followed by a throaty chuckle from Steve.

“Geez, Teege, that shirt was government property.”

“Bill me,” TJ shoots back, his voice a low growl. 

Steve huffs in amusement as he pulls the remains of the shirt over his head – fucking _finally_ – and then, maybe out of concern for their safety so they don’t meet the same fate as his shirt, shucks his pants as well. 

“Like what you see?” Steve asks with a smile. He sets his hands on his hips and TJ can’t help but be reminded of the Renaissance statues he’s seen at the National Gallery. 

Except that this one TJ’s allowed to touch. 

Which he does, reaching out to pull Steve close by the waistband of his boxers, tugging them down as he sinks to his knees. Steve’s cock is a work of beauty, already fully hard, and TJ wraps a hand around its base as he licks up its length, eyes trained on Steve. The way Steve’s eyes roll back into his head as TJ wraps his lips around the head of his dick, takes it in – god, it’s intoxicating. 

TJ finds a good rhythm, taking him in, pulling back, taking him in, Steve’s fingers carding through his hair with each movement. 

“God, I’m close,” Steve grinds out, hands slipping from TJ’s head to grip the couch behind him.

***

Steve can feel his orgasm building, a tightening somewhere behind his stomach, and he carefully takes his hands off TJ’s head so that he doesn’t accidentally hurt him. TJ’s tongue slides along the underside of his dick, a devilish glint in TJ’s eye, and Steve knows he’s done for.

“Ah, TJ!” he lets out as he comes, and TJ hums his approval as he swallows it down.

Geez, it’s lascivious and filthy and so damn beautiful, that smile on TJ’s face when he lets up, and Steve doesn’t even think twice before dragging him up for a kiss, long and luxuriating. He can taste his own come on TJ’s lips, which maybe shouldn’t turn him on as much as it does, but he doesn’t care.

There are definitely aspects of this new era that he’s still struggling to come to terms with, a lot of aspects, really, but this here, being able to take his time and _enjoy_ being with a man, to not have to hide it away in a back alley, this he truly appreciates.

Which is why he takes his time with TJ, strokes his already hard dick slowly but firmly until TJ starts squirming and whining for Steve to “hurry the fuck up already” before Steve finally nudges him around the couch and onto it, kneels in front of TJ and takes him into his mouth.

He hasn’t done this much before, but the softness of TJ’s skin coupled with the hardness of his dick are mind-boggling. The way TJ moans as Steve pulls up and licks along the length is downright filthy and, god, just what Steve wants to hear. He closes his eyes, focused on remembering that sound as well as staying on task.

Soon TJ’s digging his fingertips into the muscles of Steve’s shoulders and arching his hips.

“God, Steve, so good,” he moans. 

Steve can tell TJ is close, so he strokes up TJ’s thigh with his fingertips as he increases his speed, tightening his lips. A few seconds more and TJ’s hands are tugging at his hair, his hips bucking as he shouts out Steve’s name, his come warm in Steve’s mouth. 

“Fuck, Steve,” TJ exhales, tugging Steve up for a long, slow kiss.

They lay like that, Steve half on top of TJ, their limbs tangled, in comfortable silence as both work to catch their breath, until Steve finally asks what’s been running through his head all evening.

“I thought you said you didn’t want to tell your family about us?”

A moment passes, then another, before TJ finally replies. “I didn’t want to. I just … sometimes they just get under my skin and I … I don’t know, they just bring it out in me, you know?”

Steve can’t help thinking back to that day on the helicarrier, when he’d found himself wrapped up in a spiraling argument with his whole team. That searing anger that had boiled up in his veins and he was saying things he didn’t even know where they came from. Yeah, he knows what TJ means.

“I do.”

Steve thumbs at the chain TJ wears around his neck, wondering what the key and the ring symbolize to TJ, until TJ lets out a long yawn.

“It’s been a long day, huh?” Steve says, lifting his head to smile at TJ. “Maybe we should hit the hay?”

TJ shifts, putting a bit of space between them, and pushes a hand through his hair. “Hey, listen, I’ve got a performance coming up and I’m, like, four days behind on practicing now, what with … everything, so I’m gonna need to get up early tomorrow.”

“Okay, that’s not a problem, I’m an early riser anyway.”

“No, I meant …”

“Oh.” Realization sets in, like a glass of ice water to the face, and Steve feels himself frown. He’s confused – is TJ just using him for sex? After three days with TJ, in TJ’s warm presence, the thought of going back to his cold, dark apartment by himself seems almost unbearable. 

_Hooking up,_ TJ’d said. He may have been asleep for a long time, but even Steve knows what that means.

“You want me to … Yeah, I should probably get going. I need some clean clothes anyway.” He looks around for the nearest article of his clothing. It’s a sock. He pulls it on, scans for the rest of his clothes. “Well,” he says once he’s dressed again, “Uh, gimme a call when you’re free again, alright?”

TJ smiles weakly. “Yeah, I’ll do that. G’night, Steve.” 

He pulls Steve in for a goodbye kiss. It’s slow at first, one might almost say reluctant, but then TJ lets out a soft sigh and deepens the kiss to something far more sensual, lingering.

“Sleep well, TJ,” Steve says when they finally part. He hopes TJ will, because he sure as hell won’t be able to.

There’s so much he wants to say. He wants to ask what prompted TJ’s outburst at dinner. He wants to ask why TJ didn’t reply when he mentioned them talking about what ‘us’ means, but he doesn’t want to seem pushy. Instead, he opens the door and steps out of TJ’s apartment.

He leaves TJ’s building feeling rather confused, to say the least. TJ’s behavior has been rather erratic since they left the safe house – actually, it first started on the way _to_ the safe house, Steve realizes. It’s tough to get a read on him – one moment they’re hot and heavy, the next moment TJ seems miles away.

Steve lets out a sigh and pulls up the collar of his jacket against the wind, wishing he had a scarf. It’s a long walk back to his apartment, but he doesn’t want to take a cab. The cold air will hopefully help clear his head.

Steve likes spending time with TJ. He _really_ likes it. It’s been a struggle to get a hold on this new world, but he’s been doing his best by working hard, dedicating himself to his role at SHIELD. It’s the best way for him to put his skills and abilities to use in a way that helps the country, and isn’t that why he did what he did? The promise he’d made to Erskine when he’d been given this new body? He’d hoped, perhaps naively, back then that the world would have moved on, would have learned, wouldn’t still be fighting the same fights. Seems he was wrong on that. So he still has work to do, he thinks as he crosses the National Mall. And that’s okay, because he’ll do it.

But when he’s with TJ – hooking up, a tiny voice says – he can forget that, at least for a little while. Those are the moments when he can set aside being Captain America and just be _Steve Rogers_ , when he actually feels at ease with himself. He hopes that it’s like that for TJ as well, and he thinks sometimes he catches moments of it in TJ’s smile, but when TJ closes him out like he did just now, well, Steve’s not so sure of anything anymore.


	6. A New Hope

TJ lets two and a half weeks pass before he calls Steve. He thinks about calling earlier, thinks about it way too often, actually. There are plenty of times he pulls up Steve’s number and stares at it but can’t quite bring himself to press the call button. Plenty of times he sees something Steve might enjoy and wants to snap a picture and send it to him, like the street performers dressed like Captain America and Iron Man, or the little whale design the barista at the shop near campus makes in TJ’s latte that is so cute he almost can’t bring himself to drink the coffee, or the group of students having a snowball fight on the University Yard. (TJ had gotten caught in their crossfire, but the girl had apologized profusely, especially when she recognized him as a professor. Then one of her friends had recognized him as TJ Hammond and the poor girl had nearly cried.) He’d thought about calling Steve on New Year’s Eve, as he’d sat alone in his apartment carefully avoiding the temptations and associations of the evening but had settled for a simple text message wishing him a happy new year just after midnight. Besides, he had his performance the next day. He had to keep a clear head.

They’d texted briefly after that, but TJ had been careful not to say anything to suggest they meet up.

These past weeks have also been really busy for him. Beyond the normal hum of activity that comes with classes starting again and a student who’s been going through some tough times and chosen TJ as their confidante, TJ’s also got his calendar full with piano gigs. He’d gotten a frantic call from the owner of one of the local jazz clubs just after New Year – their regular piano guy had slipped on some ice and broken his arm, could TJ fill in for a while? TJ had said yes immediately, not only because he was eager to be playing regularly again and he’d always loved that club, but because he felt bad for the guy – a broken arm could mean the end of one’s career for a pianist, after all, so at least the guy would still have this gig to come back to when his arm healed since TJ couldn’t do it forever. A regular gig means lots of rehearsals, though, and TJ finds himself busier than he’s been in a _long_ time.

So it’s good, really. He needs to let some time pass, to put a bit of distance between himself and Steve. He’d been getting too close, setting himself up to get hurt. Developing too many feelings.

A little voice at the back of his head keeps niggling _besides, it’s not like he can’t call you_ and _if he cared about you, he would have called by now_. But TJ knows that voice too well – that’s the voice that tells him things like _he’s too good for someone like you_ or _you don’t deserve someone like him anyway, who are you kidding?_. It’s also the voice that used to tell him _a quick line will make it go away_ and _one line won’t hurt_ and _there’s a simple way to end this_. He’s learned to ignore that voice.

He _will_ call Steve. When he’s ready.

When he finally does call Steve, it’s at his mother’s behest. Naturally.

He’s on his way to teach his Tuesday class when his phone pings to let him know he’s got a text message. He almost regrets checking it when he sees that it’s from his mother, but he pulls it up anyway.

_I’ve got a few minutes at 12:30. Meet me for coffee in Foggy Bottom? Love, Mom_

He lets out a sigh. Of course she had her staffer check his schedule, so of course she knows that’s exactly when his break between classes is. 

One of his students has a lot of questions that day, so TJ’s running a few minutes late when he finally gets to the State Department building. He’s learned to avoid being late to meetings with his mother – not only because she is so busy during the day that every minute counts, but also because it helps him avoid prying questions about what’d been keeping him.

Luckily there’s not much of a line at the security checkpoint and his mother’s earlier appointment seems to be running longer than expected, so TJ is already at a table with a cappuccino for each of them and a piece of banana bread to share when she arrives.

“TJ, I’m so glad you could make it,” she says as she pulls him into a warm hug.

“Yeah, glad it worked out. I thought you were headed to, what, Cambodia this week?”

“Malaysia, but not until Thursday. Oh, thank you.” She takes the seat across from him and lifts her coffee cup as if to say “cheers” before she takes a sip. 

TJ mirrors the gesture.

“So,” his mother starts as she sets her cup down again. “This is one-hundred percent not official news yet, so keep it between us for now, but I met with President Ellis yesterday and he’s going to nominate me for appointment as his vice president.”

“Wow, Mom, that’s awesome. I’m really happy for you.” He means it, too. He can’t think of anyone who deserves the position more than she does, and she’s had to work three times as hard to get to where she is than most male politicians have (especially that asshat Collier. _Fuck_ him. Good riddance.)

“Thank you.” She smiles and breaks off a piece of the banana bread. “It won’t be announced until next week, and then confirmation hearings will start, so it could take a number of weeks. Things are looking good, though. There’s just a few loose ends that need to be tied up. You know how Congress can be.”

TJ nods. He gets it, has seen these situations play out before. He also knows what she’s telling him without saying it: The other side will be looking to throw up any roadblock they can come up with, so _don’t give them fodder_. Keep your nose clean, she’s saying. Keep your head down. Don’t cause a scandal. _Don’t tell anyone about Steve._

He breaks off a corner of the banana bread and chews it thoughtfully. 

“How’s Steve?” his mother asks, as if to drive the point home.

“He’s good,” TJ shoots back. Not that he actually knows how Steve is, since they haven’t texted in over a week, but he certainly isn’t about to tell his mother that.

“So are you and he … are you dating, or what’s going on there?” 

“We’re just … I don’t know. We’re trying things out. Seeing where things go.”

She gives him the Concerned Mother look, which is meant to encourage him to open up but always makes him want to run instead.

TJ crosses his arms and leans back in his chair. “It’s not exactly a walk in the park, getting involved in this family, and he’s not ...” TJ looks around to make sure no one is listening, then lowers his voice just in case. “Steve’s not out yet, so it’s not like we’re going to go announcing anything to the world tomorrow, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’m just worried about _you_ , TJ. I don’t want to see you getting hurt. And like you said, he’s not out, and I know how stressful keeping secrets like that can be.”

TJ huffs. Yeah, the Hammond/Barrish family sure knows a thing or two about keeping secrets. 

“I’m doing good, Mom. I’ve been clean for _over a year_ now, I have a steady job doing what I love at one of the top universities in the country. Alright, it’s not a tenure position, but you don’t get those without a Ph.D.”

Elaine sips her coffee and looks up at him as if she’s waiting to hear what his point is.

“I can take care of myself. So maybe, just this once, when something good comes along for me, someone who cares about _me_ , maybe don’t try and knock it down. Let me just see where things go and figure things out, just me and him.”

He’s picked up the spoon and is tapping it on the table, he realizes, and forces himself to set it down. Except now he has no idea what to do with his jittery hands, so he crosses his arms.

“Alright, TJ,” his mother concedes, warmth in her tone. “Well listen, there’s an event next Wednesday at the White House – Tony Stark and Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes are being awarded a medal for their deeds concerning the Mandarin and AIM. I was thinking of sending Steve an invitation. Why don’t you come along too?”

Fuck. Well, there it is, the grave he’s just dug for himself. No backing out now.

“Alright. Have Trina send me the details, and I’ll let Steve know.”

“Good.” She gives him a pleased smile before sipping the last of her coffee. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a meeting with the Malaysian ambassador coming up that I need to prepare for.”

They both stand and she pulls him in for a tight hug, murmurs “I love you, TJ,” into his hair before heading back to her office.

TJ frowns and drops back down into the chair with a sigh. “Sure, Mom,” he mutters under his breath as he scrapes together the milk foam around the edge of his cup, “I’ll just call up the guy I’m trying to avoid so I can stop falling for him and invite him and his superhero friends to the White House. What could possibly go wrong?”

He licks the foam off his spoon, contemplates ordering another latte, decides the last thing he needs when he makes the call is for his heart to be on the verge of exploding. From the caffeine, that is.

Thing is, now that he’s said it out loud (and as much as he is loathe to admit that his mother helped him reach this realization), he really _does_ want to see where things go with Steve. Steve is great – he makes TJ laugh, he’s fun to be around, he’s _fantastic_ in the sack, and most of all, TJ really likes who he is when he’s with Steve.

He just really doesn’t want to rush into things. And he doesn’t want to set himself up to get hurt. Which puts them at a bit of an impasse: They can’t come out as a couple while his mother is awaiting confirmation, but TJ can’t – doesn’t want to – won’t settle for being anyone’s little gay secret again. One thing is for sure, though: If he wants this thing between them to go anywhere, he is going to have to call Steve.

Has he been putting it off? Has he filled his calendar on purpose so he could keep telling himself he was too busy to call? Yeah, probably. 

_Well, no time like the present_ , he tells himself as he picks up his phone and dials Steve’s number.

“Rogers.” Steve answers on the third ring, his tone all business. 

TJ briefly considers hanging up as panic surges through him – does Steve not want to talk to him? Is he upset because TJ didn’t call sooner? – but his brain catches up before he does and reminds him that his number shows up anyway.

“Hi, Steve. It’s TJ.”

There’s a siren in the background and a lot of commotion, so that Steve’s voice is almost drowned out when he says, “TJ, hi.”

“Is this a bad time?” An image forms in the back of TJ’s mind of Steve in full Captain America gear, smashing mutant alien robots with his shield while he’s chatting on the phone with TJ. 

That’s probably unlikely.

“No, I just ... I’m in New York, just got off the train. Almost didn’t hear my phone ring.”

Right. Regular Manhattan city noise is a much more plausible explanation than mutant alien robots.

“Oh, that sounds fun.” TJ realizes he’s picked up his spoon and is turning it over again and again, tapping it on the table as he does, and there’s an annoyed staffer on a laptop glaring at him. He puts the spoon down carefully and waves an apology. “Business or pleasure?”

“Pardon?”

“Your trip. Are you in New York for fun or for work?” _That’s none of your business,_ TJ subconscious points out halfway through the question. “Actually, never mind, none of my bu-”

“Team thing. Tony invited us all up. Says he wants to talk to the team.”

“Oh. Okay.” 

There’s a pause, as if Steve is waiting for him to say why he’s calling. 

“So, um, apparently Tony and Colonel Rhodes are being invited here for an event, and my mom wants me to ask you if you want to come.” TJ winces at his own words, pinches the bridge of his nose.

_What the hell, Hammond?_ Why are you acting like a teenager?

“Oh. Yeah, I’d love to, that sounds great.”

“Because you’re on the same team. The Avengers, I mean.” _Just shut up now, Hammond._

Steve chuckles. “Yes, we are. I’ll be there, TJ. I need to go now, though, I’m about to get in an elevator. I’ll be back in DC on Friday, though.”

“Okay, great. Give me a call then.” The words come out of TJ before he realizes it. Well, so much for distance.

“Yeah, I’ll do that. See you then, TJ.”

“Yeah, see ya.” 

He’s smiling, TJ finds as he pockets his phone again and pushes himself up out of the chair to leave. Just hearing Steve’s voice – he feels lighter than he has the last few days, and it’s probably not just from the caffeine.

***

Steve ends the call and looks up at the wall of windows that make up Stark Tower. From where he’s standing in front of the building, it seems to just keep going _up_ forever. 

It doesn’t, of course, Steve knows very well. He may not have been up on that rooftop when it all happened, but he recalls all too vividly the portal in the sky. And Tony falling from it.

He shuts his eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath, trying his hardest to banish that memory.

His heart is pounding. He’s incredibly glad that TJ did finally call him – he’s wanted to a number of times these past two weeks but had decided against it. TJ had said he would call, after all. When he hadn’t called, well, Steve had figured TJ had decided that things were maybe over between them, and he had almost come to terms with that. Almost. 

But hearing TJ’s voice just now had brought all that back, and Steve realizes as he looks at his reflection in the polished steel doors of the elevator in Stark Tower that he’s _not_ ready to step away from whatever he and TJ have going on.

It feels strange to be back in New York City. After he’d woken from the ice, it had all been so _different._ He’d wandered the streets those first few weeks, not quite believing that any of this could be real. So much had changed. He’d felt lost, like the rug had been pulled out from under his feet. He’d wanted so desperately to have the world he’d known back, but that was impossible.

This city, it reminds him so much of everything he’s lost (that he’s lost everything).

His world is gone, as is just about everyone who had been in it. 

And he’d been alone after he’d woken up, so very alone, until this strange team had come along and they’d fought side by side as if they’d been doing it all their lives. And Steve had felt at home with them – end-of-the-world foe aside, it had felt so _right_ , being a part of that team.

But then the enemy had been vanquished, and they’d all gone their separate ways. And Steve had been alone again.

Except now he isn’t alone anymore. He still gets to work with Natasha, and sometimes Clint, but more than that: He has TJ.

Just like fighting alongside the other Avengers, when he’s with TJ, he feels _right_.

He just needs to find a way to show TJ that.

He sighs. That’s not going to happen today, so better get on inside and see what Stark has to say.

It’s impressive to see how quickly things are being rebuilt in the city. Barely half a year has passed since the portal opened up and the Chitauri streamed through, but most business are open again and people seem to have returned to their lives. Tony’s tower, which had sustained a great deal of damage, is almost fully repaired. The top few floors, where he’s asked the team to meet him, are still under construction, though, and Steve notices immediately that Stark hasn’t replaced the giant letters that had hung on the side of the tower.

So no more “monuments to the skies with his name plastered on it.”

Steve steps out of the elevator and is greeted by Bruce Banner. 

“It’s good to see you again, Dr. Banner.” Steve extends a hand towards Banner, who smiles shyly as he accepts the handshake.

“You too, Captain. Come on in. Rest of the team’s all here. Well, except Thor, of course.”

Banner leads him into an open space Steve concludes must be the living room. Natasha, Barton, Stark and a man Steve recognizes as Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes are all seated on the couches around a massive glass coffee table.

“Captain, good of you to join us,” Tony greets him. “Here, sit.”

Tony points towards an empty spot on the couch next to Natasha, who scoots over a little to make room for him. 

“Thank you,” Steve acknowledges as he sits.

“Honeybadger here and I will be in your neck of the woods next week, you know.” Tony gestures between himself and Rhodes. “The president is giving us one of those fancy medals for, you know, saving his life, no big deal.”

Rhodes is giving Tony a look like he should stop blustering, and Steve can’t help but smile as Tony struts around the room in his casually boastful way. 

“We should meet up while we’re in town, you and Romanov can show us the sights.”

“Yeah, I’ll be at the ceremony too, actually.”

Tony gives him a questioning look, an eyebrow raised.

“I was invited too.”

Tony raises his eyebrow even farther.

“I’m, well, actually, I’m seeing TJ Hammond. Secretary Barrish’s son.” It would have been perfectly accurate to say “I provided security for a member of the Hammond family” or “I assisted Secret Service with security,” but Steve doesn’t want to skirt the truth. Besides, they’ll find out soon enough, so might as well get it out in the open.

“Yeah, I know who TJ Hammond is,” Tony says with an amused smile. “Seeing, you mean like, I see you, like I am seeing Rhodeybear here sitting next to me, or seeing like going out on dates and seeing each other naked?”

“Well, when you put it that way – he’s definitely not invisible.” Steve shrugs and rubs the back of his head. “So, uh, both, I guess.”

Barton looks like his eyes may bulge out of his face. Natasha’s got just the tiniest hint of a smile on her face, and Banner tilts his mug of tea towards Steve with a wink. Tony, meanwhile, is grinning like a hyena. 

“Well I’ll be damned,” he says as he reaches out to pat Steve on the back. “Good for you, Cap.”

“Thanks? Now that we’ve got that cleared up,” he clears his throat, switches to his Captain voice, “let’s get to business, shall we?”

“Yes, business,” Tony agrees, noting the change in Steve’s demeanor, and he’s off. He shows them the renovations he’s made to his tower, which are quite impressive. What had been a private living area has been rebuilt into a massive open space, with an area for congregating, a massive bar, a lounge area. The rest of the tower has everything the team could ask for: a shooting range, a gym, a workshop for Tony and Bruce, an office space. 

“Tony, what is all this?” Clint asks as he lovingly caresses the tip of one of the new arrows Tony has made for him.

Tony stops in his tracks and turns to face the team. He levels his gaze at Steve before he replies, “I think we should get the team back together.”

Steve nods. It makes sense. They could have been far more effective fighting AIM as a team than Tony and Rhodes on their own. And there’s no telling what might come in the future – after the Chitauri, _anything_ seems possible.

“Here, I have something to show you guys.”

Tony leads them down another hall off the main area. There’s a hallway that leads to an open space with four doors and a spiral staircase to the floor above, where there are presumably more doors. 

Steve sucks in a breath. Tony has made living areas for each of them, essentially an apartment easily twice the size of the place Steve is living in now, plus all the other amenities he’s just shown them, just waiting for them to move in. The term “generous” seems wholly inadequate.

“I know you all have your own thing going on, but we can work much more effectively as a team.”

“I’m all for bringing the gang back together,” Clint says, a hand on Tony’s shoulder, “but we can’t all just up and move to New York.”

“Clint’s right,” Natasha agrees. “Cap and Barton and me, we’ve all got day jobs with SHIELD.”

Steve nods. “I do agree with Tony, though, about the team coming together again. I think we should start training together, learn how we all work, so that if and when we _do_ need to go out into the field as a team again, we’ll be ready.”

The team seems to agree – Clint goes so far as to throw a mock salute and declare, “Aye, aye, Captain!”

“Well, the offer stands. You ever need a place to call home, it’ll be here for you.”

“Thank you, Tony, I appreciate it.” He means it, too. But his home is in Washington, DC, at least for now. He’s not ready to move to New York yet – there are too many memories there, and the wound of losing everyone is still too fresh. Besides, he has a steady job there with SHIELD.

And of course, there’s this thing, whatever it is, with TJ. He’s not quite sure where they stand or where they are headed, but he definitely wants to find out.

***

Steve calls, as promised, on Friday. Well, not quite as he’d promised, since he’d said he’d call when he got back from New York, and in fact he calls while he’s still on the train.

TJ’s stomach does a little leap at the sound of Steve’s voice and the thought that Steve couldn’t wait to call him, and he invites him over. Steve accepts the invitation quickly, saying he’ll come by as soon as he’s back in town, probably around seven.

Cleaning the apartment keeps TJ’s hand busy while he waits for Steve to get there, but his mind keeps wandering. Yeah, he’s ready to admit it now: He’s excited to see Steve again. By six thirty, the apartment is spotless, TJ’s checked his hair about forty-seven times, and his skin is crawling. And for some stupid reason, all he can think is, “Doesn’t it just fill you with antici-”

He’s so on edge that he nearly shrieks when the doorbell rings at ten minutes to seven. He scrambles to his feet, nearly trips over himself on the way across his living room, curses himself for acting like a thirteen-year-old girl, and pulls open the door.

“Hey, come on in,” TJ says as casually as he can manage. It’s only then that he really sees Steve and he stops halfway through the motion of inviting Steve inside.

His breath is caught somewhere in the back of this throat, and he has to fight to get it out.

Steve looks _good_. He’s wearing a simple grey V-neck sweater and beige khakis, but somehow he manages to make it look like red-carpet fashion. He’s also sporting about three days’ worth of stubble, which is a (fantastic) new look for him and it’s doing all sorts of funny things to TJ’s libido.

TJ finds himself closing the gap between them, reaching up to take Steve’s face in his hands and pulling him in for a kiss, his thumbs running over Steve’s beard. He’s met with a quiet moan from Steve, who returns the kiss eagerly. TJ slips his hands down Steve’s body to pull him into the apartment as their tongues explore each other’s mouths and uses his foot to kick the door shut a little harder than needed.

Steve lets out an amused huff against TJ’s mouth at the bang as the door slams shut.

TJ slides his fingers through Steve’s hair. His impossibly soft hair. God, this feels so good. And that’s when it hits him like a freight train: He’s missed Steve. These past few weeks have been alright, but now that Steve’s here, he feels like the sun has just come out again after a month of rain. 

Or some other cliché shit like that.

“Hmmm, Teege,” Steve mumbles against TJ’s mouth, his hands sliding to TJ’s hipbones and holding him firmly.

TJ pulls back, licks his lips. Christ, Steve’s barely through the door and TJ wants to jump his bones. 

“Sorry.” He pulls out a wicked smile. “Good to see you.”

Steve chuckles. “Yeah, you too.” His thumb is rubbing circles over TJ’s hipbone as he says, “I missed you.”

“Yeah, sorry about that.” TJ runs a hand through his hair, then remembers how long he’d spent checking it and curses himself for messing it up again. “Things have been pretty busy.”

Steve nods in acknowledgement. “Fury had us out on a mission for the last ten days too. I can’t say where, but suffice it to say, it was cold as hell.” He smiles up at TJ through those ridiculously long lashes. “But that’s then and now’s now, and we have somewhere to be. Come on,” he says, giving TJ’s hip an encouraging nudge as he reaches behind him to where TJ’s coat is hanging. “Don’t wanna be late.”

“Huh?” TJ blurts, eloquence clearly failing him.

Steve grins. “I’m taking you on a date,” he says matter-of-factly. 

“Steve. We- people will see us, if we go out. They’ll talk.” TJ winces. He can’t believe he’s about to say what he’s about to, but there’s no way around it. “We’re going to have to keep it under wraps for a while.”

Steve doesn’t seem fazed at all, which is … unexpected. “Yeah, I figured as much.”

“It’s not that I want to,” TJ continues, brushing a hand over Steve’s arm. “It’s because …” He lets out a long sigh. “This is the part where it sucks being a Hammond.”

He looks up to meet Steve’s gaze, who’s sending him a questioning look.

“I need to keep off the press radar for the time being because my mother is going to be nominated as the new vice president.” He’s frowning, he can feel it, and he tries to soften his expression. “And since the Republicans love to bring up personal stories in an effort to throw shade at her …”

He doesn’t bother finishing the sentence, just pushes a hand through his hair and hangs his coat back on the rack.

He’s expecting Steve to be a bit more upset about it – actually he’s a little upset about how lightly Steve brushes it off as Steve hands the coat back to him.

“I’ve got it covered,” Steve insists. “Come on. It’ll be fine. No one will recognize us, I promise.”

***

It takes a bit of convincing, but Steve finally manages to get TJ into his damn coat and out the door. After even more convincing, he even gets TJ into the car and they’re on their way. 

TJ had stopped in his tracks, staring at Steve, when Steve had opened the car door on the passenger side for TJ to get in.

“Steve, when did you get this car? I thought you had a motorcycle.”

It’s not Steve’s car – it belongs to Tony, who had pointed out that Steve couldn’t take someone on a date on a motorcycle in January if he wanted them to get there unfrozen. Plus he’d need the trunk space. Tony had, of course, originally offered his bright red Tesla Roadster, but Steve had reminded him of the need to stay low-key. (“Tony, I think if we’re going for under the radar, maybe a hundred-thousand-dollar car with a licence plate that says STARK isn’t the best way to do that.” “Right. More like a hundred and fifty thousand, but point taken.”) Which is how Steve had ended up with one of the slightly less conspicuous black Model S Teslas from the Stark Industries fleet in Washington.

“Where are you taking me?” TJ asks after Steve explains.

“Aw, don’t want to ruin the surprise,” Steve replies with a smile as he merges onto the highway.

It’s a half-hour drive to their destination, during which they each tell the other what they’ve been doing since they last saw each other (well, the parts that aren’t classified, in Steve’s case). TJ tells him of his mother’s nomination, which sounds great. Steve’s only met her the one time, but he’s done plenty of reading about her accomplishments and he’s sure she’ll make a great vice president.

Steve slows as he makes a right turn and the theater comes into view.

“You have got to be kidding me,” TJ says when he sees the line of people dressed in costumes ( _cosplayers_ , Steve recalls Tony telling him). There’s a huge sign with black letters above the movie theater, the kind they used to have in Steve’s day but that the bigger cineplexes have gotten rid of – STAR WARS WEEKEND, the sign proclaims.

Steve grins over at TJ, who looks more amused than upset. “We’d talked about seeing the film, and I’ve learned it’s best not to put things off.”

He’s pulling into a parking spot when TJ says, “Yeah, but, you know, people are going to recognize us.”

“I’ve got it covered.” Steve finishes parking the car, leans over to brush a kiss on TJ’s cheek before he gets out and retrieves the bag from the trunk.

He’s just finished pulling on his tunic and robe when TJ gets out of the car.

“You have _got_ to be kidding me.”

Steve looks up from buckling his belt to see TJ staring at him, his look a mixture of wonder and disbelief. And also a bit of desire.

“You like it? Tony lent me the costumes.”

TJ makes a show of looking him up and down. “Babe, you are the hottest Obi-Wan Kenobi I have ever laid eyes on.”

Steve preens a little as he pulls the hood of his robe over his head and hands TJ the bag. 

“Really Steve? Obi-Wan and Anakin?” TJ protests once he has his robes on. “What, Luke and Han Solo were taken?”

“Their faces aren’t covered,” Steve points out, stepping close to pull the hood of TJ’s robe over his head. “And if we’d gone as stormtroopers or one of those other guys with masks, I wouldn’t be able to do this.” He crowds in close to TJ, pushing him gently against the car before kissing him, long and indulgently.

Somewhere behind them, there’s a wolf-whistle.

“Okay, point taken,” TJ breathes when they finally pull apart. He rests his forehead against Steve’s. “Dammit Rogers, you’re making it awful hard to go focus on the movie now.”

“You’ve seen it,” Steve counters before kissing TJ again.

They do ultimately make it into the movie theater to watch the film (the first of the “original trilogy,” Steve learns it’s called), which Steve enjoys far more than the Star Wars film he had already seen.

Steve reaches out to take TJ’s hand shortly after Alderaan is destroyed. They watch the rest of the film this way, one stroking the back of the other’s hand with his thumb every so often. It’s nice, and Steve feels a peace he hasn’t felt in a long time.

TJ explains on the drive home why some people had yelled “Han shot first!” at the screen when Han Solo was talking to that alien, which turns into a discussion about the merits or tenability of preemptive action.

There’s an easy smile on TJ’s face, his features lit up by the glow of the street lights. If he weren’t busy driving, Steve would lean over to kiss him.

_He’s beautiful,_ Steve thinks, forcing himself to focus on the road again. 

“This was great, I really enjoyed it,” Steve tells TJ when they’re at the door to TJ’s apartment.

TJ returns the sentiment with a smile before reaching up to pull Steve close for a kiss. “It was. Thank you, Steve.”

Steve chuckles. “Well, we kind of have to thank Tony. It was mostly his idea.”

Now it’s TJ who laughs. “There are so many reasons why one should not take dating advice from Tony Stark – most of them well-documented by Hello Magazine – but in this case I will definitely agree.” He kisses Steve again, rubs his thumb over the back of Steve’s neck. “Come inside?”

Steve nods and they head into the building. He waits until they’re in TJ’s apartment before tugging TJ by the wrist to look him in the eye. “TJ, the last few weeks, I thought about this a lot. I want it, this. Going out, being together. Not just “hooking up” or whatever else people call it these days. Call me old-fashioned, but I want us to have a relationship.”

TJ’s lower lip is quivering slightly, so he gives TJ’s hand a reassuring squeeze.

“Steve, I – yeah, I want that too. But…” He looks away, his gaze somewhere in the room, and Steve feels his heart plummet. TJ looks back at Steve again before he continues. “There’s not going to be a dress-up event for us to go whenever we want to go out on a date. And I can’t do the hiding thing forever. I’ve been the secret gay boyfriend before. It _literally_ nearly killed me. Well, it would’ve, if my mom hadn’t found me.”

The taste of bile rises in Steve’s throat as his stomach churns at the idea of TJ not being alive, and Steve has to fight down the urge to go and punch the daylights out of whoever made TJ hurt like that.

Instead, Steve nods. “I want to come out. I _will_ come out. Hell, I’ll do it right now if that’s what it takes.”

“Hey, easy tiger,” TJ says with a weak smile, grabbing hold of Steve’s wrist to hold him in place. “Remember what I said earlier about my mom and staying off the radar?”

“Right … But, what if I just come out but not tell people about you? About us,” he corrects.

TJ lets out a huff as he shrugs off his jacket and hangs it up before reaching out to take Steve’s. “Believe me, I’m the last guy in the world who would tell you – or anyone – to _stay in_ the closet if they want to be out. But just … make sure you’re ready for this. The media is going to eat up a story like this, and I’m not gonna lie – it’s going to be really tough for you. They can be ruthless. There’ll be eyes on every move you make for months afterwards, maybe longer. Just make sure you’re ready for that.”

TJ has a point. Even if Steve does come out now, they’d still have to keep things quiet for TJ’s mother’s sake in the near future. It might actually make it harder for them to be together. Never mind how difficult it could make his missions to have a spotlight like that on him. Which wouldn’t just make things difficult for Steve – it could put the lives of his teammates at risk.

There’s a searching look in TJ’s eye when he speaks again. “That’s the thing, Steve. Dating me, it comes with strings. Complications. Part of the joy of being a Hammond.” He smiles weakly, a fake smile. “I’ve got more baggage than the Samsonite factory. Are you _really_ sure you want to get mixed up in that?” 

Steve huffs. “I’m turning _ninety-five_ this year. All of my friends from before are dead or senile, and these days I fight on a team with a guy in a flying suit of armor, a giant green rage-beast and a god from another dimension. Not exactly traveling light in the baggage department either.” He slips his hand around the back of TJ’s head to pull him in for a soft kiss. “So if you’ll have me, yes, I want to be with _you_.”

Slowly, a smile crosses TJ’s lips. “Yeah, Steve,” he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper, “I’ll have you.”

***

TJ yawns and looks over at the expanse of pale skin stretched over perfect muscles lying next to him. Steve is still snoring contentedly, which is unusual – Captain Earlybird is generally awake, showered, and back from a morning run with bagels in hand by the time TJ wakes up.

But sleep has been eluding TJ this night, his mind too busy churning through _every reason why he should run far, far away_ as every reason why he should stay lies sleeping next to him.

His thoughts wander back to last night’s activities as he takes in the dips and peaks of Steve’s back muscles, the curve of his gorgeous ass before it disappears from view under the blanket. He recalls the way Steve had wrapped an arm around him, holding his back close against Steve’s chest as he’d thrust into him, the way Steve had moaned his name softly as he’d come.

TJ feels his cock twitch just thinking about it.

The sight of Steve elicits such a physical response from him, and sex with Steve, well frankly, it’s mind-blowing. But he wants more than just sex. He wants _this_. He wants to wake up next to Steve and he wants to spend his days with Steve. He wants to hang out and talk about what’s going on in their lives, and he wants to go out with Steve. Not always just hang out in TJ’s apartment and order pizza, but actually go somewhere together and have dinner at a restaurant and maybe a movie or a show after that. He wants to _date_ like normal people.

And that’s where the problem lies. They _aren’t_ normal people. Steve is Captain America, and that comes with a certain type of person people expect him to be. Dating a man doesn’t fit into that image. Especially not someone like TJ Hammond.

And TJ, well, in this incestuous town where everyone knows everyone else and they’re all so fucking obsessed with finding dirt on each other, he’s never going to have that kind of freedom to just go out on a date without having to worry who might see him.

Maybe he should just move away from Washington, DC. The thought’s crossed his mind in the past, but back then he’d been too wrapped up in his self-destructive habits to actually go through with it. But now – what is there to hold him back now? He’s a grown man, he doesn’t need to live so close to his family (might even be better for his mental health). Sure, he has a job here, one that he loves, but it’s only an adjunct position, and he’s got enough experience now that he could probably find a similar job in another city.

But now there’s one thing he can’t just up and take with him, one thing that is tied to this city: Steve. 

And he _wants_ to be with Steve. As terrifying as it may seem right now, the thought of opening up enough to let someone else in, and trusting them not to hurt him, he’s willing to try that for Steve. So unless the Triskellion up and moves to another city, if TJ wants to have a relationship with Steve, he’s gotta stay here, for better or for worse.

“TJ?”

The sound of Steve’s sleepy voice pulls TJ out of his thoughts, and he gives his head a little shake as he returns to reality. 

He offers Steve a weak smile and, because he can, a soft kiss. “Hey, go back to sleep.”

Steve turns far enough to pull TJ’s arm across him, snuggling down into TJ’s embrace. “I will if you do.”

“Man, if the world knew Captain America likes to be little spoon …”

“Shush, you. Sleep.”

TJ places a kiss on Steve’s shoulder and inches closer to Steve. He closes his eyes and hopes for sleep. Soon enough, it finds him.


	7. On Ceremony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this one's quite a bit shorter than the previous chapters. This part of the story has been giving me quite a bit of trouble, compounded by hardly any writing time thanks to work and an increasingly mobile baby, so writing has been sloooooooooow. I'm sorry!!! So here's a little bit to tie you over until I can wrangle the gorram plot! Hey look, it's a superhero party!
> 
> Beta thanks, as always, go to fitz_y - thanks boo!

TJ wiggles his tie back into place one more time before he follows the intern who’s been tasked with taking him to the room in the White House where everyone is meeting before the medal ceremony. He’s purposefully a few minutes late – not late enough for it to be noted, but by now the others should already be there. He’s not sure how long he’ll be able to manage being surrounded by political social climbers and reporters without losing his cool. 

He’s never done this sober before.

He takes in a deep breath as he steps into the room. As planned, almost everyone is there already. Tony Stark and the man TJ guesses is Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes are to the left, chatting with a highly decorated serviceman. There’s a gaggle of reporters, some of them familiar faces for TJ and others new, as well as two photographers who are milling about, snapping away. TJ’s mother is – no surprise here – in the center of the room, talking to a tall woman with ginger red hair in impressive heels. She must be Pepper Potts, the CEO of Stark Industries and Tony’s girlfriend. Behind them is a cluster of politicians, senators and House representatives mostly, and a few more military men.

TJ can feel his heart beating faster, his breathing getting tight, as he steps further into the room. His mother spots him and offers a smile, gestures for him to join them. TJ feels like his lungs are about to burst, and all he wants is to run as fast as he can from this room full of hob-nobbers and grovelers.

He shouldn’t have come. He’d sworn off these events. He tries to remember why he agreed – it’s not like he _needs_ to be here. He wasn’t involved, he’s just a former First Son, a nobody by Washington standards. Just a gossip rag headline.

His mother steps forward, and the tightly gathered crowd seems to open up, and there he is, standing over by Tony Stark: Steve, dressed up in his uniform. Not the one with the red and white stripes, but his Army uniform, with a khaki green cap tucked under his arm and rows upon rows of medals pinned to his chest, not to mention neatly pressed pleats that hug all the right places …

TJ looks up just as Steve spots him and turns, a smile spreading across Steve’s face before he quickly schools his expression again. Suddenly, TJ’s chest doesn’t feel so constricted anymore.

He makes his way over, taking a moment to greet his mother first.

“Hi,” Steve greets him as he joins the group. “Tony, Jim, Commander Stevens, this is TJ Hammond. TJ, this is Commander Stevens of the 104th, Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes and Tony Stark.”

TJ shakes their hands in turn. Something like recognition flashes in Stark’s eyes, and TJ could swear Stark winks at him. If they were alone, TJ would thank him for the costumes and whatever sage advice he must have given Steve, but this definitely isn’t the place for that.

There’s barely enough time for the introductions before they’re being told to take their places in the East Ballroom. The crowd shuffles into the other room, and Steve uses the opportunity to nudge TJ.

“You look _good_ ,” he whispers, the sound sending a shiver up TJ’s spine.

_Not the time or place, Hammond._

TJ shoves down the illicit thoughts that are rushing through his mind at what he wants to do to Steve in that uniform of his. Instead he replies coolly, “You clean up pretty well too, Captain.”

He takes a seat next to his mother, Steve on the other side of the room next to Pepper Potts. It’s a relatively quick ceremony – the President gives a brief speech to express his gratitude “not only to Tony Stark and Colonel Rhodes, but to every man and woman who fight to protect us each day.” TJ tunes out halfway through – he’s sat through enough of these things over the years to know the gist of it. The speech ends, there’s clapping, Ellis pins the medals on Stark’s shirt and Rhodes’ uniform, standing ovation, pose for pictures, and we’re done.

TJ can breathe a lot more freely once the event is over and they’ve left the White House again. Something about being there, surrounded by all that hoopla, all those people – it gets under his skin, makes him want to do stupid things. 

And the hiding. God, he hates the hiding. Granted, he’s not exactly itching to go shouting it from the rooftops or anything, but having to act like he and Steve are nothing but passing acquaintances ... Well, it sucks.

Thankfully they don’t have to hide anymore when it’s just them and Stark and Rhodes – Tony and Jim, as they’ve told him to call them. Tony had invited them back to his place after the ceremony – apparently Stark Industries has an apartment for its executives to use when they’re in Washington. It’s twice as big as TJ’s apartment. TJ’s going to try not to let that get to him (and he almost-but-not-quite succeeds). Natasha and Clint Barton have also come to join them. It feels a bit surreal – it’s like a superhero party and somehow TJ Hammond also got invited. Just a regular Wednesday night, hanging out with his _boyfriend_ and his superhero friends. What even is TJ’s life these days?!

It’s nice, though, spending time with others, not just the two of them holed up in TJ’s apartment, and not having to worry about being spotted because it’s alright for these guys to know. It’s fun to watch Steve banter with Tony and share war stories with Jim. He seems happy, at ease in a way that he often isn’t. It’s easy for TJ to forget Steve’s past, to oversee all the loss Steve has been through. Steve hides it so well. Unlike TJ, he doesn’t dwell, he just forges on, presses forward like the stubborn mule that he is. But every so often it comes through, in the stiffness of his reaction to a bit of news or the hollow way he laughs when someone makes a reference everyone understands but him.

Steve slings his arm over the back of the couch he and TJ are sitting on, his fingertips brushing softly over the back of TJ’s neck. TJ smiles at the touch and slides a little closer to Steve, nestling into Steve’s side. Steve is almost impossibly warm, and this right here, well, TJ’s happier than he’s been in a very long time.

Natasha catches his eye as his gaze sweeps through the room and she offers him a soft smile and a wink. 

“You know, Hammond, I was worried I was going to have to give you a shovel talk. But I saw the way you look at him and I’m thinking, maybe I can spare you that,” she tells him later. He’d gotten up to use the bathroom, and she appears as he’s heading back to the group.

“Uh, thanks, Natasha?” TJ ducks his head and scratches at the back of his neck as he looks up at her. He hasn’t quite figured out how to act around her yet. He’s had plenty of experience dealing with powerful women – _thanks, Mom_ – but Black Widow is a whole different ballgame. She’s a force to be reckoned with, that’s for sure. Yeah, okay, he’s a little intimidated by her.

She quirks a smile and squeezes his arm. “Don’t get me wrong, though. Hurt him and I _will_ kill you in creative ways. You wouldn’t be the first member of a political dynasty I’ve taken out. I try to avoid it though, if I can. The aftermath gets messy.” 

There’s a lightness to her tone. TJ is almost sure it’s mostly a joke. Maybe like 75% joking? Except he’s also pretty sure she isn’t joking at all.

“I’ll, uh, I’ll keep that in mind. Good to know the Hammond name still holds some clout,” he adds with a smile. Countering with a joke seems the best way to figure out if she is, in fact, being serious.

Her smile widens, and now he’s sure she’s joking. She gives him an assessing look and nods as if to say, “I approve.”

“I think you’re good for him, TJ Hammond,” she says instead. She shifts her weight to one leg, her stance now more casual. “Cap has a tendency to carry the world on his shoulders sometimes, like he thinks it’s his fault for the way things are.”

TJ nods. Yeah, that summarizes what he’s observed pretty well.

“But he does it less now, since you’ve been …” she waves her hand vaguely. “In the picture,” she finishes.

He ducks his head. That seems like a lot of pressure to be under – to be responsible for someone else’s happiness. He’s not sure he can handle that, he thinks as he feels the little hairs at the back of his neck raise. The urge to get out of here, to tuck and run sets in.

_No,_ he tells himself. That’s not what it is. You can do this. This is _Steve_ we’re talking about.

Instead, he pulls out his best grin. “Well, you know, getting laid will do that to a guy.”

Natasha huffs out a laugh. “Well in that case, keep up the good work.”

The next “talk” comes from Tony, who catches TJ when everyone else is in the kitchen after their food arrives. 

“So, TJ Hammond,” Tony opens with his famous (infamous?) Tony Stark grin.

“Tony Stark,” TJ returns with a grin of his own as he takes a swig from his glass of iced tea.

Tony looks him up and down as if assessing whether he passes muster. “You know, I’m actually surprised our paths haven’t crossed before. I mean, I’ve met your father a few times, but I’d have thought we’d have ended up at the same gala or fancy party at some point.”

TJ shrugs. “I try to avoid society events these days. Gets me into trouble.”

Tony huffs out a laugh. “I know that feeling.” He raises his own glass of iced tea as if to say “cheers” before taking a sip.

Yeah, TJ’ll drink to that.

“I mean, I still have to go to far too many of those things,” Tony continues, “but I’ve found a way to keep myself out of trouble.”

He glances over to where Pepper is standing, chatting to Steve. TJ follows his gaze and smiles at the sight of his boyfriend, who’s leaning casually against the door frame, one hand in his pocket. Steve looks happy.

Tony catches his eye when TJ turns his attention back to their conversation. “Looks like you have, too,” he says with a smile, and this time it’s a genuine one.

A smile flickers over TJ’s face before he averts his gaze, opting instead to study the swirl of the liquid in his glass.

“Thanks for the– Steve said it was your idea, with the Star Wars costumes.”

There’s an amused huff of laughter from Tony. “Yeah, sure thing. Glad you liked it.”

This time TJ doesn’t bother trying to hide his smile. “Pretty sure there’s pictures of Anakin and Obi-Wan making the rounds on reddit or whether the fans are using these days.” He takes another sip of his iced tea. “But that’s way better than pictures of the former First Son and Captain America, so yeah, it was great.”

Tony nods. “I can see why Cap didn’t jump at my offer.” TJ shoots him a questioning look, so Tony continues. “I’m renovating Stark Tower – had a bit of damage, after, you know–” He gestures with his hands to indicate things coming down from above and explosions. “–the wormhole incident. Putting in apartments for the team, but there haven’t been too many takers yet. Wasn’t too surprised about Barton and Romanoff turning me down, they practically live and breathe SHIELD, but Steve, he’s only been there a few months. I figured old habits die hard and he likes the chain of command, probably married to his job. But it looks like his motivation to stay in this swamp called Washington – no offense – is entirely different.”

TJ looks down at his shoes. Surely Steve isn’t staying in DC just because of him. They’ve only really been together for, what, five days? No, Tony’s probably right about the chain of command thing. Hell, TJ knows firsthand how much Steve gets off on being ordered around in the bedroom, so it makes sense that he needs that in his professional life as well.

He passes it off with a laugh, but the thought sticks with him. Why _wouldn’t_ Steve want to move back to New York, his hometown? Is it a case of old habits dying hard? Did he join SHIELD because it reminded him of his Army days? Or is there something in New York that he’s trying to avoid? 

_I’ll figure it out,_ TJ tells himself, and resolves to make it his mission to Figure Steve Out.


	8. Homecoming

Five weeks. 

That’s how long the confirmation process takes for his mother to become Vice President.

Five long weeks of her being stressed out about hearings and press conferences and newspaper exposés and nosy journalists trying to dig up dirt. Five weeks of reminders to TJ that he needs to keep his nose clean and out of trouble. Five weeks of staying close to home, taking care never to be seen with anyone in public that might cause a stir (read: Steve). 

There was a brief flurry of interest in TJ after pictures of him and a student were published on one of those insidious celebrity gossip blogs, but it died down quickly after the rumors were squashed. They had, in fact, merely been walking across the quad together.

It didn’t help that Steve had been off on a SHIELD mission at the time. That meant that the incident passed by without Steve hearing of it, but it also meant TJ had to stand up to it alone, with no one to talk about it with. With his family members so wrapped up in getting his mother back into the White House and Steve out of the country and incommunicado, TJ is left feeling more alone than he has since his mother’s last election.

God, he hates politics.

Finally the approval passes both the House and Senate, and TJ feels like he can breathe again. He watches his mother being sworn in as Vice President, the first female Vice President, and tries to push down the feeling of resentment that he has to attend this historic date alone. 

Maybe now that all this is over, they can finally go to events together. As soon as Steve comes out.

If not for that niggling voice in the back of his head hissing that maybe he is being overly optimistic.

***

“How come we never go to your place?” TJ asks as he steps off the back of Steve’s bike and pulls off his helmet.

They’d been at Doug and Anne’s house for dinner, and Steve has just cut the ignition to his bike outside TJ’s apartment. 

It’s been three months since they had The Talk and decided to give this relationship thing a try. And it’s been going really well. Surprisingly well, actually. 

Besides the fact that the confirmation hearings are over and TJ’s mom has been Vice President for weeks already, so there’s really no reason anymore why they have to keep things off the radar. Except for the part where everyone still thinks Steve is straight as an arrow and he hasn’t really made a move to tell the public otherwise. TJ hasn’t pushed it, though – it’s something one should do on their own terms (not that TJ had had that option, which is how he knows how important it is). Steve will come out when he’s ready (TJ hopes), and until then, TJ’s going to enjoy their time together without the media circus that will inevitably follow them once they go public. 

Because they do work really well together, him and Steve. TJ had expected it to be more difficult for him to trust someone else enough to make a relationship work, and yet, with Steve, it just seems to come naturally. He’s found someone in Steve who he can talk about just about everything with, someone who “gets” him. Steve understands having to live up to a name that was thrust upon you, a persona that people have ascribed to you. Granted, Steve’s situation comes with quite a bit more responsibility than TJ’s, but there’s enough overlap to call it shared life experience.

But despite how easy things are between them, TJ can’t quite shake that feeling that somewhere underneath, Steve isn’t one hundred percent _there_. TJ’s fairly sure he isn’t hiding anything, like a secret family or collection of cat plates or god-knows-what, just that there’s something he’s keeping closed off.

“Dunno,” Steve replies with a shrug. “Your place is nicer.”

TJ decides to let it slide, pushes down the thought and reminds himself of all the many reasons Steve is so very great as he watches Steve jog up the stairs ahead of him. Yes, a lovely reason. One of many.

But the thought remains there, in the back of his head, and it does manage to fight its way through from time to time. It was there at his mother’s inauguration – the suck-fest of attending events like that alone aside, if there’s anyone who would have gone all heart-eyes at the prospect of seeing the first female Vice President be sworn in, it would have been Steve. It’s there when he comes home in the middle of the night after his regular evening gig at the jazz club and Steve’s sprawled out across the bed, fast asleep (because he has a key to TJ’s place, but TJ hasn’t ever been to Steve’s). It’s there when Steve tosses popcorn at TJ for talking while they’re watching a movie, so TJ retaliates by crawling into his lap and kissing him senseless. It’s there when TJ’s mom invites the family to Sunday lunch, Steve included – because he’s basically one of them now. And it’s definitely there when that gay gossip blog posts a picture of him, caught at an unflattering moment looking all sorts of disheveled in a ratty t-shirt and his hair terribly out of place, along with an article titled TJ HAMMOND: BACK OFF THE WAGON?

“Is it because of your cat plates?” he finally blurts out one evening as they’re sitting, as usual, in his apartment eating delivery food.

Steve freezes, his fork halfway to his mouth, and the creamed corn tumbles off. “My what?” he asks, a look of utter confusion on his face as he brushes corn off his lap.

“Okay, not cat plates. You don’t really seem the type to have a secret family, and I’ve seen you fold your clothes after you take them off in the evening, so it’s probably not because you’re one of those hoarders like on the TV show, so what is it?”

“Teege, what are you talking about?”

TJ straightens, shifts so he’s facing Steve completely. “How come you don’t want me to see your apartment?”

Steve pulls his hand back. “I – I didn’t realize you wanted to,” he finally answers.

TJ huffs and pushes back his chair, gets up to go into the kitchen but stops halfway and turns around again. He’s not even sure why he was headed into the kitchen. For all the ways Steve was wonderful and seemingly perfect, he sure could be frustratingly obtuse about some things. “Why wouldn’t I want to? It’s your home, where you live, and I …” His voice hitches. “I care about you. You’re my boyfriend. I want to know you.”

Steve pauses for a moment and looks at TJ before he gets up and crosses the space between them. He slips his left hand around TJ’s waist and raises the other to run a finger over TJ’s cheek. “Alright. If you really want to, we’ll go to my place. Tomorrow?”

TJ catches a smile spreading over his lips and he nods lightly. “Yeah, sounds great.”

Steve leans forward to kiss TJ, lingering for a moment before he pulls back again, the mischievous glint in his eye. “That should give me enough time to hide the cat plates.”

***

“Wow, so this is how superheroes live,” TJ drawls as he takes in his surroundings. After all this time and all the thoughts he’s had about Steve’s apartment (and why Steve was so secretive about it), actually seeing it now somehow feels anticlimactic.

He walks further into the space, his eyes sweeping over the drab beige paint, the sparse furnishings. It’s a nice enough apartment, with a cute little kitchenette area that’s probably got nice light during the day thanks to those open shelves that Steve is using to store his _cereal bowls_ (plain white, TJ notes. No cats). There’s even a closed-up fireplace with an ornate mantel. There’s definitely potential here to have a really cozy place, except Steve is using exactly zero percent of it. The furniture looks like it’s from Goodwill, the three pieces of art on the wall are the pre-framed kind they sell at the National Gallery. 

What this place lacks, TJ surmises, is personality. There’s nothing that would tell a visitor anything about the person who lives here, except maybe the vintage record player in the corner.  
It’s almost as if Steve hasn’t bothered to decorate. Like maybe he’s not planning on staying long enough.

Like he views the apartment as just a place to sleep and eat, not a place to _live_.

“I’m not home much,” Steve says with a shrug, which really just confirms TJ’s suspicion.

Especially since TJ knows that while Steve is sometimes gone for a week or more on missions, there are also week-long stretches where he doesn’t get called out, and TJ’s pretty sure he isn’t sitting in an office at SHIELD all day during those times. They spend a lot of the evenings together, but hardly every evening, and the thought of Steve all alone in this place is … pretty damn depressing. 

TJ wanders over to the desk and picks up what looks like a sketchbook. “May I?”

“Sure. Not much in it, though.”

“I saw some of your drawings in the exhibit,” TJ says as he flips open the cover. “They were really good.”

Steve wasn’t kidding, there really isn’t much in it. The first few pages have a couple sketches on them, city scenes, as if Steve had just been picking everyday moments he observed to sketch. Then there are the ones of skyscrapers. The first ones look like architectural studies, rigid lines accurately depicting the buildings – the Flatiron, the Empire State Building, New York Public Library. The tiny, ornate American Irish Historical Society building, wedged between two significantly taller, newer buildings. The drawings get considerably more abstracted after that, with the walls of the buildings starting to lean down over the streets, almost as if they’re about to topple down onto the viewer. 

TJ looks up. Steve has wandered over to the record player (hipsters would be so jealous of that thing) and is in the process of putting on some music.

He turns to the next page in the book. There are a few aborted sketches, nothing more than a few quick lines. The rest of the pages are blank. Oh. TJ’s seen this before. He’s been there. He squeezes his eyes shut as he remembers those times he couldn’t bring himself to even look at his piano, let alone play it. As if pressing those keys, doing the one thing that always helped him feel better, was somehow more than he deserved, like he wasn’t good enough to be allowed to touch a piano.

He closes the book and sets it back down.

“You do any drawing anymore?” he asks, going for casual.

Steve sets the needle down on the record and the first notes of “Cheek to Cheek” start playing.

“Not really.” The answer comes quickly, with a half-hearted shrug, and Steve doesn’t even look up as he’s putting the record sleeve back on the neat stack next to the player.

TJ considers him for a moment, then decides there’s only one way to get this block-headed boy to open up.

He crosses the room and takes Steve’s now-empty hand. Steve looks up at TJ and TJ holds his gaze as he walks backwards, leading him into the empty space in the middle of the living room. 

TJ wraps one hand around Steve’s waist and takes the lead, dancing them around the room. He’s seen _Top Hat_ often enough with Nana to know the song by heart.

“Not much of a dancer, are ya?” TJ teases.

Steve shakes his head and a wistful look flickers in his eyes. “Folks weren’t exactly lining up to dance with me before. And then during the War, just kinda … never took the time to learn.”

“And now?” TJ wants to ask, but doesn’t. Instead he rubs his thumb over the small of Steve’s back and vows to take him dancing all the time. 

Except Steve isn’t out. Yet. So it’ll have to wait. Again. Fuck.

“I saw this film at the pictures, you know. Uh, in the theater. Musta been seventeen or so.”

“God, you’re old,” TJ says with a warm smile before leaning up to brush a kiss over Steve’s lips. He thinks back to the movies he saw when he was about that age, and an idea strikes him.

He drops Steve’s hand to pull off his shirt, tossing it on the floor before shucking his pants.

“TJ, what–” Steve starts, the hungry look on his face replaced by a confused one as TJ shoves the sketchbook and satchel of pencils at him.

“Draw me like one of your French girls,” he drawls, his eyes fixed on Steve as he steps back to the couch and then sprawls himself out on it. He takes a moment to adjust the chain around his neck so it falls flat across his chest.

“What? I don’t– How do you–”

TJ lets out a hearty laugh. “There’s one for your list, Rogers. _Titanic_. Must-see cinema for the angst-ridden gay teen. Man, DiCaprio, hmmm. Christ, can’t even begin to count how many times I jerked off to pictures of him.” 

Steve’s staring at him like he’s speaking gibberish, so TJ offers a smile. 

“Sit,” he tells him, gesturing to the armchair, and Steve does. “Come on, Steve, you’ve got a hot model literally _begging_ you to draw them in the buff, you don’t pass a thing like that up. Shut up and draw, blondie.”

Steve looks down at the sketchbook, then up at TJ, then back at the sketchbook. “I haven’t– It’s been a while.”

“Go on, Steve,” TJ says with his best bedroom voice as he fingers the chain around his neck. “Do it for me.”

Steve sighs and swallows before he cracks open the book, flips to a fresh page.

“And afterwards, I’ll let you fuck me.”

***

Steve tries to hide the surprised gasp that escapes him at TJ’s offer, instead focusing on the feel of the pencil in his hand.

It has been a _long_ time since he’s done any drawing. Maybe too long.

The last time he tried was before the battle in New York. He’d picked up the pencil then in the hopes that it would help him figure out this new life, would help him feel more, well, alive. That was before Loki and aliens and the portal. Before his road trip around the country. 

Before he met TJ.

Maybe TJ’s right. Maybe it is time to get back on the proverbial horse.

He just, he hasn’t felt right drawing since then. It was like there was some sort of immovable weight pulling him down whenever the idea of drawing something had crossed his mind, and it was just easier to not draw rather than try to figure out why.

He looks up to the scene in front of him – TJ lounging on his couch with a come-hither look, his arm laid across his body and his hand just barely covering his … manhood. 

Yeah, okay, that might be enough to get him to try drawing again.

“Like one of your French girls,” TJ had said. Not that there had been time for drawing while Steve had been in France. 

With a heavy sigh, he puts the tip of the pencil to the page and jots a quick line out on the paper. 

That wasn’t so hard, he tells himself.

So he does another. And another. 

Slowly the lines start to come together, the supine form of a nude man beginning to be recognizable. Steve keeps going, eager now to see the marks take shape, to become _TJ_.

It feels good. He feels … relieved. Like this is what he’s meant to be doing.

He looks up at TJ, who’s looking back at him with a warm smile.

“You alright, Steve?”

It’s only then that Steve realizes that his eyes are wet, and he lifts his hand to wipe away the tears.

When he looks up, TJ is front of him, a hand on his cheek. 

“Shhh, sweetheart, it’s okay,” he says softly as he climbs onto Steve’s lap and wraps his arms around him, holding him close. 

Steve leans into the touch – he feels strangely unattached, like he’s floating somewhere three feet above his body, and the weight of TJ in his lap is keeping him from floating away.

He doesn’t know how long they sit there like that, TJ curled around him, his face buried into the soft skin just above TJ’s collarbone, but when he finally looks up and TJ looks back at him with those warm blue eyes, he feels _right_ again. Not just like he’s back in his body, but like he’s also whole again.

“TJ. I love you.” 

The words just come out of him before he even realizes what he’s saying, but he doesn’t regret it. He’s sure of it.

A smile flickers over TJ’s face, disappears as TJ looks away, pulls back ever so slightly. Steve’s torn between wanting to pull him closer so he can never leave and wanting to give him the space he needs.

TJ looks back him, his eyes watery. He presses a soft kiss to Steve’s lips, and it tastes sweeter than anything Steve has ever had.

“I love you too,” TJ whispers against his lips. 

Steve wraps his arms tighter around TJ, pulling him close up against his chest. It’s an awkward position, TJ’s shoulder jabbing into Steve’s breastbone and his knees somewhere in Steve’s ribs, but Steve couldn’t care less. He’s got TJ in his arms, and that’s all that matters.

He trails kisses along TJ’s neck, breathes in the warmth radiating from TJ’s body. That’s when he realizes that TJ must be freezing – he’s not wearing any clothes, and Steve’s apartment isn’t exactly toasty warm.

“You cold, Teege?” He runs his hands over TJ’s arms and legs to warm them.

“Hmmm, a bit,” TJ hums. He flicks at Steve’s chin with one finger, a wicked grin spreading over his face. “Could do with some warming up.”

Steve huffs softly at the insinuation, tightens his hold on TJ as he stands. “What’re you suggesting?” he asks, his voice low.

TJ lets out a soft whimper. “I probably shouldn’t find it as hot when you carry me as I do.” He wraps his arms around Steve’s neck tighter. “To the bedroom, Captain.”

There’s no rush, no sense of urgency as Steve lays TJ down on the bed, trails lips and fingers across those beautiful plains of skin. It’s like he’s seeing TJ for the first time again, getting to know his body in a way that he’d somehow missed until now. He revels in the way TJ squirms when he kisses his side, the soft moan TJ lets out when he nips at his hipbone, the arch of TJ’s hips as he takes TJ’s dick into his mouth.

His favorite, though, is the happy sigh TJ makes when Steve slides his dick slowly inside TJ. The way TJ’s hands come up to rest on Steve’s back as Steve pulls out again, thrusts in. The way TJ’s ankles fall over Steve’s legs, and the way TJ’s hair curls into his face as sweat begins to bead on his brow.

“Fuck, Steve.”

Steve leans forward to catch TJ’s lips in a kiss, deep and slow. 

“I love you,” he breathes when they break apart again, and TJ lets out a moan that sends a shiver through Steve.

He takes his time, delighting in the way TJ seems to come apart beneath him, until he can’t hold himself back anymore.

They lie tangled in each other in silence for a while after, the only sound that of their breathing slowly returning to normal. Eventually TJ stirs, pushes himself up onto his side to look at Steve.

“I am gonna make you finish it, you know. The three-magic-word get-out-of-jail card only works once, buddy.”

“Finish what?” Steve lifts his head slightly to look up at TJ, brings a hand up to brush a strand of hair out of TJ’s eyes.

TJ prods him in the ribs. “The drawing, dummy.”

“Oh right.” He lets his head fall back onto the mattress. It had felt good to be drawing again. Really good. Maybe he should get back into it.

There’s a lot of things he should maybe do. He hasn’t been out to visit Peggy in a while, for one. He should talk to Tony and the rest of the team about those joint training sessions they’d talked about. 

He should tell the world the truth about himself, that he’s in love with a man. With _this_ man.

He’d put off telling Peggy how he felt about her – _it wasn’t the right time_ , the words echo in his head – and then their time had passed. He’s just not sure the time is right for this yet either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you're wondering what that drawing of TJ might look like, an approximation can be found [here](http://sebastian-stan.com/imgs/displayimage.php?album=68&pid=17#top_display_media)
> 
> (I tried to draw this, but it turns out I can't art. At least not well enough to do justice to the work of art that is Sebastian Stan) (justice isn't the only thing I'd like to do to Sebastian Stan badum-che!)
> 
> Thanks, as always, for comments and kudos - they give me life! (and also inspiration to write) - FEED ME SEYMOUR!  
> And many squishy thank-you hugs to fitz_y and orbingarrow for beta reading/cheerleading! :-*


	9. On the Radio

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Certain, limited passages are quoted from the movie. I'm having fun exploring Steve's Feelings and thoughts as these scenes are happening and trying to toe the line between tying in canon / getting caught in it. Feedback appreciated.  
> (Feedback ALWAYS appreciated. Especially when it's positive ;-) I've had a shitty, shitty day...)

He’s been tossing and turning for what felt like hours, but sleep seems to be evading Steve tonight. He looks over to the other side of his bed, where TJ is snoozing peacefully. There’s just enough light coming in from the streetlamp outside the window behind TJ to highlight his silhouette, his skin glowing softly where the light hits it.

Christ, he’s beautiful.

Steve falls back onto his own pillow and lets out a sigh. In hindsight, TJ thinking he had a secret collection of cat plates or something else that he was hiding isn’t all that funny, and he’s a bit mad at himself for not seeing his partner’s perspective when it had come to showing TJ his apartment. It had seemed pretty straightforward to Steve – TJ’s apartment is comfortable, and Steve has an easier time sleeping at TJ’s place than at his own.

Even the blissful fatigue that comes after sex didn’t help tonight – he’d dozed off for a little bit after, which at least is better than nothing, but had woken up again not long after.

His mind keeps circling through the evening’s events – the anxious tightness he’d felt in anticipation of TJ coming to his apartment, the sense of relief that had come with finally drawing again coupled with the anger at himself for not realizing on his own that he’d been denying himself that, the warmth in TJ’s eyes as he watched Steve drawing, the sense of everything clicking into place when Steve became aware of his feelings for TJ and when TJ said he felt the same way. The elation as they’d fallen into bed together, and though sex certainly isn’t new to them, it had felt vastly different this time (in the best possible way). 

And that’s why Steve is lying awake now. Because it’s clear that the next step has to be taken, the next step towards them having a happy relationship that they don’t have to hide, and this step is all down to him: He needs to come out.

It will mean no more hiding, that Steve can finally go to TJ’s performances to show support without having to worry about being recognized despite his incognito outfit. It will mean they can go to a restaurant together and don’t have to order in all the time. It will mean the world knowing how he feels about this wonderful man and how TJ feels about him.

It will mean telling the world about his private affairs. And that’s why Steve can’t sleep. Maybe it’s that deep down, despite everything he has learned about this new age, he’s still afraid of the repercussions of that kind of revelation (because let’s face it, while things have come a long way and he’s not about to get thrown in jail or discharged from the military, there will still be some repercussions). Maybe it’s all the times he was told to keep personal matters to himself. Maybe it’s just the idea of having the world know what goes on in his bedroom (or on his couch or kitchen table).

Either way, it’s making Steve’s head spin. He pushes himself out of the bed with a resigned sigh, presses the button on his phone to check the time. 4:45 AM. Well then.

He pads over to the closet, trying to be as quiet as possible so he doesn’t wake TJ, and pulls on his running gear. When all else fails, physical exertion might help him sleep.

The sun is slowly starting to come up as he loops around the Tidal Basin for the third time. It’s probably about 5:45 by now, he guesses. A lonely time to be out; there’s only one other runner out this early, and Steve figures from the way the guy carries himself that he’s also been through at least basic training.

So he decides to have a little fun with the guy.

“On your left,” he calls out, picking up his speed just a bit as he passes.

He catches up to him again in front of the Jefferson Memorial. 

“Uh-huh, on my left, got it,” the guy acknowledges as Steve passes him.

Good, he seems to have a sense of humor. 

There are a few more runners out by the time Steve catches up to him again, this time in front of the Lincoln Memorial. Steve heads east towards the Capitol Building, adds an extra loop when he sees the other guy headed that way as well.

Poor guy is sprawled out under a tree, gripping his side, when Steve trots up to him. Like he’d guessed, the guy is wearing a sweatshirt with the Air Force insignia. A retired PJ, he tells Steve. Sam Wilson is his name.

“Musta freaked you out, comin’ home after the whole defrosting thing,” Sam says as Steve helps him up.

And just like that, all of the thoughts Steve had literally been trying to run away from this morning – successfully, so far, thanks to his shenanigans with Sam – are back. He sighs. There goes the morning. He’s not in the mood today for small talk with an idolizing fan and tries to make his exit. “Takes some getting used to. Good to meet you, Sam.”

“It’s your bed, right?” Sam calls after him.

For a moment, Steve panics. How the hell does he know? Then it sinks in that Sam isn’t talking about TJ, and that Sam is right. Maybe not just a Cap idolizer after all. He stops to hear what Sam has to say.

“Your bed, it’s too soft. When I was over there I’d sleep on the ground, use rocks for pillows. Now I’m home, lyin’ in my bed, and it’s like-”

“Lying in a marshmallow,” Steve supplies. Yeah, he knows all about that. The too-soft spring of modern beds, the quiet of an empty apartment after so many years of sleeping in close quarters with a dozen other guys. “Feel like I’m gonna sink right to the floor.”

Sam nods. “You must miss the good old days?”

Steve catches himself smiling. “Well, things aren’t so bad,” he concedes. He prattles off a few things that have improved that he likes – food, internet – but carefully skirts the important stuff. No all-pervasive fear of Nazis. Not having to worry where his next meal will come from. The fact that, if he and TJ were just regular guys, they could walk down the street in Washington, D.C. holding hands and no one would bat an eyelash. Well, at least they wouldn’t try to lock them up.

He’s jotting down the soundtrack Sam recommends when his phone buzzes with a message from Natasha. They’ve got a mission.

“Any time you wanna stop by the VA, make me look awesome in front of the girl at the front desk, just let me know.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Steve appeases.

Which is when Natasha pulls up, revving the engine of her sportscar. “Hey fellas, either one of you know where the Smithsonian is? I’m here to pick up a fossil.”

Natasha fills him in on the mission specs as she pulls out into DC traffic at a slightly terrifying speed.

“Who’s your new friend?” 

“Just met him this morning. Retired PJ. His name’s Sam.” Steve looks over to Natasha, whose eyes are trained on the road. He knows her well enough to know that means she’s looking for more information. “He works at the VA. Why, you want me to set you up?”

Natasha rolls of her eyes. “You’re the veteran around here.”

She pulls up outside Steve’s apartment building, and he heads upstairs to clean up and grab his gear. TJ is sprawled out on the bed, fast asleep, as he slips into the apartment. Steve showers and changes quickly, then places his hand softly on TJ’s shoulder.

“Hey, Teege, sorry to wake you. I gotta go.” 

TJ stirs at the sound of his voice, his eyes opening slowly. Steve lifts his shield into TJ’s field of vision to indicate he’s got a mission. 

TJ stretches sleepily, the movement pulling the sheet down to his stomach, and hums in acknowledgement. “Well, when duty calls …”

Steve leans down to brush a kiss over his forehead. “Don’t know how long I’ll be gone. Have a good time in New York. Good luck with the concerts.”

TJ catches his wrist, rubs his fingers over the back of Steve’s hand. “Thanks,” he says with a tired smile. “And you be safe. Don’t do anything stupid.”

Steve chuckles at that. “I would never,” he replies sardonically. An idea strikes him, and he pulls back his hand. “Hang on,” he says as he turns to go into his kitchen, where he retrieves a small box from the top shelf. He hates the idea of running out on TJ like this, especially since TJ will be in New York for the next two weeks, preparing for and performing in a concert series. At least this way, though, TJ can take his time this morning and show himself out. “Here, I want you to have this.”

TJ blinks at the keys in Steve’s hand. “Really? Six months of not showing me your place and the very first time here I get keys?” 

The smile in the corner of his mouth tells Steve he’s teasing.

“Yeah, well … no point in always putting things off. I gotta run, though.” He steps forward to kiss TJ quickly before turning to leave, stopping at the doorway to look back one more time. “I love you, TJ. See you when you get back from New York.”

“Yeah. Be safe, and go kick some ass!” 

Steve jogs down the stairs, hopping over the railing when he gets to the last landing.

“Something’s got a spring in your step,” Natasha remarks as he gets back in the car.

Steve looks over with a raised eyebrow. “None of your damn business, Romanoff. Eyes on the road.”

“Whatever you say, Cap. Tell TJ I said hi next time you see him.” 

***

“So, you doing anything fun Saturday night?” Natasha asks as they’re gearing up just short of the drop zone.

Steve lets out a laugh as he plugs in his com device. “Well all the guys in my barbershop quartet are dead, so no.”

It’s a game they play, him and Natasha. He knows it’s her way of teasing him about being old, about being uptight sometimes, about keeping things between him and TJ hidden. Steve suspects it’s also her way of keeping Rumlow and the rest of the Strike Team off his back. He’s heard some of the team’s conversations in the locker room, and they were pretty sickening. But the guys respect her, so as long as they think Natasha is setting him up on dates, they won’t say anything.

Steve shudders to think how they would react to him coming out.

He doesn’t have much time to dwell on it, though, because there are French pirates to be brought down and hostages to rescue, and then, when it turns out that Natasha had a secret side mission and Fury has some even bigger secrets, well, suddenly Steve has very different things to worry about.

Three helicarriers, synced up to take out anyone deemed an enemy from high in the sky. Who gets to make that call, Steve wonders. 

He never did fully trust Nick Fury, but what little faith he’d had in the man and his ministrations is seriously waning right now.

“They’re a little bigger than a loaded .22,” Fury had said. Well he certainly wasn’t lying there.

The idea of it makes Steve’s stomach roil. He’d woken up from the ice to find that the very thing that he had sacrificed his life because of, the Tesseract, had been found, had fallen into the wrong hands. They’d won that day, but this, these three helicarriers waiting to snuff out anyone this algorithm deems a threat – it sure feels an awful lot like they’ve lost the war.

It’s times like this he misses the old days. When you knew which side was right and which had to be stopped. Things aren’t so clear anymore these days. He’d thought when he’d joined SHIELD that he was fighting for the good guys. Now he’s not sure about that.

He’s still reeling when he leaves SHIELD. He calls TJ, but it’s hard to get things off your chest when everything is classified. He’s not sure why he ends up at the Smithsonian – maybe he needs to remind himself what he had been fighting for back then, how he ended up here. Maybe he needs a walk down memory lane to help him keep going forward.

Either way, it does help. The little boy wearing a Captain America shirt, the corner where he and TJ met again, the video of Peggy recounting one of their missions – it gives him the gumption to finally visit Peggy.

***

_“I have lived a life. My only regret is that you didn’t get to live yours.”_

Peggy’s words ring in Steve’s ears long after he’s left her bedside.

_“Sometimes the best we can do is to start over.”_

Steve scrubs his hand over his face, blinking twice as if that will help focus his mind. She’s right. Peggy, geez. She always did say exactly the right thing exactly when he needed it.

It’s all so clear now. He knows what he has to do. No more skirting around the issue.

He pulls out his notebook, flips to one of the pages and dials the number written on it.

***

TJ’s got his mouth full when his phone rings. The screen tells him it’s his brother, so TJ decides that NY bagels are meant to be savored and presses the red IGNORE button.

The phone rings again seconds later, and this time TJ answers. If he’s calling twice in a row, there’s probably a reason.

“Vis bebba be goo’,” he mumbles around his mouthful of bagel.

“Teege, I’m happy for you, and tell Steve I’m really glad he decided to make this step, but if there’s another announcement coming, can you please let me know first so I can get a statement prepared?”

TJ gulps down the bagel in his mouth, coughing as an uncomfortably large chunk slides down his esophagus. “What are you talking about, Doug?” 

“You don’t know?”

“I don’t know - what is it that I don’t know?”

“You should put on NPR.”

His heart is racing now, thoughts running through his head about what this step Steve has made could be - and why Steve didn’t bother to tell him about it. So much for openness and honesty and all that.

He ends the call with Doug with a quick “Alright, I will, bye,” and pulls up the app.

“... that things are very different now from when I was growing up,” Steve’s voice comes through the speaker. “Which is good. But like with a lot of things, there’s still a long way to go. And I think, someone in my position, who people look up to, I think I owe it to all those people who can’t be open about who they are to say “I’ve got your back. I’m there for you. I’m one of you.”

“What made you come to the decision to share this about yourself now?” the show’s host asks. 

“We don’t often get a second chance on life, but I feel that, in a way, I have. Before the ice, there was the war on, times were real tough, I think a lot of things got put on hold. Now I’ve been given this second chance, and I don’t want to let that slip past again.”

“For those of you just tuning in, you’re listening to Fresh Air on NPR. I’m Terry Gross, and I sitting with Steve Rogers, the man most of us know as Captain America. We’re talking today about identity - what it means to be a superhero, or even just a regular hero, and the line between public life and private. Many people have a secret identity, something they feel they have to keep hidden. These proverbial masks are worn to hide medical issues, socioeconomic concerns, sexual identity. Captain Rogers himself has worn masks often in his life beyond the familiar blue helmet. He falsified his medical records in order to enlist during a time of war. He told us the story of how, unemployed during the Great Depression, he would put on a suit and leave the house every day so his neighbors would think he had a job. He has also just shared with us that he is bisexual. Captain Rogers, how would you say does-”

“Steve, you beautiful sonofabitch,” TJ says out loud, which earns him a glare from an old man sitting at the table next to him. He waves a quick apology and gathers his things, leaving the shop as his phone starts pinging incessantly with messages. He ignores all of them fastidiously. He doesn’t want to get distracted right now.

As expected, Steve calls right after the radio show ends.

“Hey babe, how’s your day going?” TJ answers. He doesn’t bother to hide the giddy tone in his voice.

“Pretty good,” Steve replies, a chuckle in his voice. “Went for a run this morning, did some sight-seeing, visited Peggy Carter, had a radio interview.”

“Oh yeah? Radio, huh? Makes sense, old-timey guy like you.”

Steve laughs, and there’s a brief pause.

“I’m proud of you, Steve,” TJ tells him. Because he is. It takes a lot of guts to tell the world something personal like that. TJ never got to have a choice in the matter, but he’s not sure if he would have had the guts to come out and say it like Steve just did. Maybe he was destined (doomed?) to be outed the way he was, caught “acting up” by someone looking for a story.

“Thanks, Teege. That means a lot.”

There’s another silence, and TJ can practically hear Steve getting wrapped up in his own head. It’s a tough time to be alone, and TJ wishes he could be there for his partner, concert be damned. That last call from Steve a few days ago had been nothing short of cryptic, and he can’t help but wonder what it is that has Steve so wound up. TJ understands the constraints of classified information, sure, but that doesn’t make it any easier to see his partner like this. Especially since he can’t actually _see_ his partner right now.

“Hey Steve?”

“Hmm?” 

“You ever go to that VA thing you were telling me about the other day?”

“No.”

“Why don’t you go.” He carefully states it as a casual suggestion, not a command or accusation. “It might be good, to hear other people talk. I’ve been to a lot of group sessions during my various stints in rehab, and I gotta say, they really do help. I hated it at the time, but that was more me hating the world, but yeah. It was good. It’s good to talk to people.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

***

“Aw fuck!”

“TJ, what the - what is wrong?” Xiang asks, dropping her violin bow in frustration. 

They’ve been going over this movement all morning, and this is the fifth time TJ has messed up in the same exact spot. It’s a tricky part, granted, but he played it just fine during practice yesterday and they really need to be moving on for their performance in three days.

TJ folds his arms across the keys and mashes his face against them. “Dammit, I don’t know. I suck.” 

Xiang lays a hand carefully on his shoulder. “You don’t suck. Well, maybe a little, today,” she teases. 

“Thanks,” he mumbles in response.

She nudges him to make room and he scoots over so she can sit next to him on the bench. “Is there something on your mind?”

TJ lets out a huff. Was there something on his mind? Uh, yeah, you could say that. His boyfriend has just made a major life decision - the decision to come out to the world - and he found out about it from his _brother_. On the _radio_. It’s not that TJ doesn’t wholeheartedly support Steve’s decision to come out - he’s proud of him, for starters, and glad that soon they’ll be able to stop hiding their relationship. It’s just … it would have been nice to know beforehand. Yes, Steve had called him right after the interview, but that was _after_. TJ can’t help but feel like an afterthought. And here he’d thought, especially now that they’re calling this thing between them _love_ , that he might register a little higher on the calling list.

He sits up straight again, rests his fingers on the keys and lets out a sigh. Rachmaninoff helps.

***

TJ’s words play over and over in Steve’s mind as he lies awake at night. “It’s good to talk to people.” They’re followed by Peggy telling him that her only regret is that he didn’t get to live his life. Then TJ again, sprawled out on his couch. “Draw me like one of your French girls,” he’s saying, except now he’s wearing an Army uniform and they’re sitting in a dark bar. “That little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb not to run away from a fight, I’m following him.” And then he’s wearing a long black leather jacket and an eyepatch and he’s telling Steve “It’s about time for you to get with the program.”

Steve wakes up in a cold sweat, his heart hammering in his chest. He’s sitting upright in his bed, scanning the dark apartment to make sure there’s no one else in there. The street lamp outside his window is buzzing, as always, and the washing machine in the basement is banging against the pipes in the wall like it’s been loaded unevenly. He rubs a hand over his face. Maybe it would have been better not to try to sleep.

He gets up and pours himself a bowl of cereal, more to have something to do than because he’s hungry. He eats the cereal without tasting any of it, washes the bowl, dries it, puts it back on the shelf.

He turns on the TV only to find that his revelation yesterday is the main topic of discussion on just about every news program and morning show. He doesn’t even have the energy to be upset that people are so fixated on his sexuality.

Miraculously, the day actually passes. After scrubbing every corner of his apartment, he finally pulls out his drawing things again and does a few sketches - just quick studies of the things around him, but it’s enough to clear his head a bit. It’s already 1:30 by the time he looks up at the clock on the wall in the kitchen.

Just enough time to grab one of those sinfully delicious cupcakes from the bakery on 14th before that meeting.

Yeah, okay, he decides, and pushes himself up out of the chair. Maybe talking will be good. And if nothing else, at least he’ll be helping Sam “look cool in front of the girl at the front desk.”

If Captain America is still considered cool after yesterday.

***

Captain America seems to still be cool enough – Sam’s still willing to talk to him, at least, and the girl at the front desk seems sufficiently impressed. Sam tells him about his own loss, and his decision to leave the force.

“Nothing I could do,” Sam says. “Like I was up there just to watch.”

A memory flashes through Steve’s mind - snowy mountains, a flash of blue and an explosion, Bucky clutching that railing in the train door. Almost but not quite being able to reach him, and then Bucky falling.

Steve tries to push the memory down.

“I’m sorry,” he says instead.

“I had a really hard time finding a reason for being over there, you know?”

He nods.

“You thinking about getting out?”

“No,” Steve replies automatically. After a moment of reconsideration, he corrects. “I don’t know.”

These days, he’s not really sure about a lot.

“You could do whatever you want. What makes you happy?”

A thousand thoughts race through Steve’s mind, and he draws a blank. 

TJ. TJ makes him happy. Not exactly a career option, though.

“I don’t know.”

They end up going to the sandwich shop around the corner for lunch, and Steve finds himself opening up to Sam. It’s nice to meet someone with shared experiences. It’s nice to hear Sam talk about how he got back on his feet after coming home, and it’s nice to think that Steve might be able to do the same.

“I heard you on the radio yesterday,” Sam mentions between bites. There’s no judgement in his tone, which is nice. And a stark contrast to some of the headlines and news tickers Steve has glimpsed throughout the day. “That takes some guts, sharing a secret like that. Good for you, man.”

“Thanks. Actually, my boyfriend was the one who suggested I go to the meeting today.”

“Oh yeah?” Sam cocks his head. “He a vet too?”

Steve shakes his head, letting out a quiet laugh. “No. But he’s been to group therapy a few times, says it helps.”

“Smart guy,” Sam says with a smile.

It’s dark by the time Steve gets home, and he jogs up the stairs feeling lighter than he had this morning. There’s some leftover barbecue in the fridge and he’d told TJ he would call at 8, so the evening is looking up as well.

Until his neighbor tells him that he left his stereo on.

Except he doesn’t own a stereo, and there’s no way he left the record player on – the record would have run out hours ago anyway. He scales the drainpipe and goes in through the bedroom window, snatching his shield on the way. 

Okay, Nick Fury is the last person he expected to find in his armchair. Fury tells him SHIELD has been compromised, and by the way, his apartment is bugged. Steve doesn’t even have time to be upset about that, because then Nick Fury is shot and the world as Steve Rogers knows it gets turned upside down.


	10. Into the Woods

Weeks of practice, long hours of rehearsing have finally paid off as TJ and Xiang are given a standing ovation. TJ’s heart is pounding, his chest heaving as he gulps in breaths. It’s been a _long_ time since he’s played for a crowd this big, and back then they were there to see his parents – he was just a side attraction. The concert hall is nearly sold out, and they’re all standing up and applauding _him_ (and Xiang, of course). 

This is just the first night of their concert series – there’s two more nights of performances, and the idea of maybe getting this kind of response three nights in a row is making TJ dizzy. It also puts the pressure on – if they _don’t_ get a standing ovation tomorrow night, it’ll be because he wasn’t as good. He’s not sure how to handle this pressure. Back in the day, he would have gone back to his hotel room and done a few lines. He banishes the idea – _not_ an option, Hammond! – and focuses instead on what he _should_ do. He smiles to the audience, bows, leans over to Xiang and places a soft kiss on her cheek. She really is an incredible musician, and probably deserves a sainthood for putting up with him the last few days when his mind was elsewhere.

There are hands to be shaken and small talk to be made, with patrons and reporters and even the Dean of the Tisch School of the Arts at NYU, who presses his card into TJ’s hand and tells him to call. TJ smiles and thanks him, makes his excuses quickly since his home is in Washington, for better or worse.

It feels like hours before he can actually get back to the small room backstage where he can finally change out of this penguin suit and into some normal clothes. His phone is blinking and he picks it up to see what he’s missed. A few calls – a couple from Doug and his mother, one from one of the guys from the jazz club and one from a number he doesn’t recognize. There’s a voice message too, which he usually deletes without listening to because he hates them and people should know better than to leave them, but he’s putting off heading back out to where all the people are, so he presses play.

“TJ.” It’s Steve, TJ recognizes instantly, and his tone is all business. TJ feels his heart rate pick up as he listens to the rest of the message. “There are things happening and I have to find out what’s behind it all. I probably won’t be able to contact you again for a while. I’m sorry for that. They’re going to say things about me that aren’t true – I can’t say anything more than that, other than it’s not true, and be careful who you put your trust in. Please keep yourself safe. I love you.”

The silence at the end of the message is deafening. TJ can feel the blood pulsing through his ears, his heart pounding. 

_Steve, what are you up to?_

“Be careful who you put your trust in,” Steve had said. TJ squeezes his eyes shut. When his world went topsy-turvy, there was always one person TJ could count on to pick him up. He frowns as he waits for the call to connect.

“Teege.” There’s relief in Doug’s voice, but also a concerned edge.

“Hey.”

“TJ, do you know where Steve is?”

TJ pinches the bridge of his nose. He shakes his head before realizing Doug can’t see him. “I have no idea. I just got a message from him, from an unknown number. What’s going on, Dougie?”

He listens as Doug tells him about Nick Fury’s death and Steve’s refusal to cooperate with Alexander Pierce, the head of the World Security Council, when asked about it. 

“He jumped out of an elevator on the fourteenth floor, Teege.” There’s awe in Doug’s voice. TJ tries to ignore the feeling of his stomach turning, bile rising. Sounds like Steve isn’t too concerned about self-preservation.

“... every LEO in DC is looking for him, all the agencies.” Doug’s still talking, he realizes a few moments later. “They think he’s going on the run. Agent Wentworth says that’s what guilty men do.”

“I’m not going to help them find him, if that’s what you’re angling at, Doug. I know he wouldn’t kill Nick Fury, so if he is running, he’s got a very good reason to do so.”

“I know, TJ. I just want you to know what’s going on here in DC. Maybe it’s for the best you’re not in town.”

TJ harrumphs. Yeah, far away from it all, where he can’t be of any help to Steve. Not that there’s really anything he can do to help in a situation like this.

“Listen, Teege, Mom wants a detail on you, for security. At least until we know what’s going on. Agent Falzone is on his way up, so at least it’s a familiar face.”

Oh great, Agent Judgy Grumpface. Just who TJ wants to have following him around all day. “Fine,” he grinds out.

“Hey, I’m sorry, Teege. But maybe do yourself a favor and lay low for the next few days. I hear they’re monitoring all the social media channels for mentions of him.”

A laugh slips out of him. Steve sure does have excellent timing.

“Why is that funny?”

“Dougie. Steve _came out as gay_ yesterday, and today some poor pencil pushers are gonna be spending all day reading through all that senseless drivel from the haters and those fan-kids who like to make up stories about celebrities they think are dating each other.” 

Doug chuckles quietly. “Yeah, that will make their job tougher. Alright, I’d better get back to the office. Take care of yourself, Teege.”

“You too, little brother.” TJ disconnects the call before Doug can object and gathers his things. At least having a secret service babysitter will keep him from doing anything stupid. 

***

Having all of the agencies in Washington on his tail clearly isn’t keeping Steve from doing anything stupid. Apparently, as Agent Falzone has been kind enough to inform TJ, “Your little girlfriend and his pet spy Romanoff went off to Jersey and broke into an old Army base.”

TJ wants to strangle the man for his choice of phrase, but decides it will be more fun to let Natasha do it. He is pretty certain Falzone is very much going to regret calling Black Widow anyone’s pet.

They slipped SHIELD’s tac team at the base in Jersey again overnight. Falzone has been pacing the hotel room all morning, up and down, from the window to the door, from the door to the window, and it’s driving TJ insane slowly.

 _Bit of coke might be nice, might take the edge off,_ a voice in the back of his head whispers.

“Fuck!” he grinds out as he shakes his head, as if that will help shake the thought. He gets up and goes to the bathroom, splashes some water on his face, frowns at his reflection. His eyes are rimmed with purple from too little sleep – concern for Steve had kept him up most of the night. Behind him, Falzone stalks across the room again.

“Agent Falzone, seriously, I need you to stop pacing. You’re making me anxious.”

Falzone freezes and turns to face TJ, glaring angrily. “ _I’m_ making _you_ anxious?! Oh sure, good agents are out there, laying their lives on the line because your buttbuddy’s decided to go out and stir things up, but _I’m_ making _you_ anxious?”

Falzone is standing directly in front of TJ now, his nostrils wide as he fumes. 

TJ can feel his heart pounding, and it’s a struggle to remain calm as he says, “Agent Falzone, you’re going to leave this room now and you will wait outside while I call Agent Wentworth and have someone else sent over.”

Falzone raises his hand, one finger extended as if to prod TJ in the chest, and he’s about to say something when the door swings open. 

The locked door.

There’s a man standing in the doorway, something long and slender in his hand. Falzone’s got his gun up, and TJ, in a moment he will probably later acknowledge is not his most heroic, drops to the floor and hides behind the bed.

“Drop it, Falzone,” the man says, followed by a thunking sound and a shriek.

“My hand!”

“Can’t say I didn’t warn ya,” the man says drily. TJ moves to get further under the bed ( _why, TJ?! This never works in horror movies, why are you trying it now?_ ), but the man is already standing over him. “So you’re the famous TJ Hammond, huh?”

TJ looks up at the man, whose face is fairly expressionless except for a gleam in his eye. He’s got one arm – and boy is it an impressive one, almost bigger than Steve’s – extended towards TJ to help him up, and _is that a bow slung over his shoulder_?!

“So you’re the famous Hawkeye, huh?” TJ replies, accepting the help as he climbs back to his feet.

Behind them, Agent Falzone is lying on the floor, clutching his right hand as he groans. “You shot me, you bastard!”

Hawkeye just rolls his eyes and turns his attention back towards TJ. “Nat asked me to keep an eye on you. Looked like you could use some intervention.”

“Yeah, thanks. Guy’s a total asshat. Seems to have forgotten who the _Vice President_ is.” TJ peers towards Falzone as he says it. He is definitely going to have his mother fire him, that’s for sure.

“So, the way I see it, you can hang out here and hope the next guy they send to “protect” you isn’t also a douchebag or possibly in cahoots with Hydra, as Steve and Nat just discovered, or you can come with me.” He spreads his hands as if to show innocence. “Granted, coming with me would possibly technically make you an accomplice, or at least a suspect for sure, but …” He leaves the sentence unfinished, instead gesturing with his eyes towards Falzone.

TJ nods. “I’ve heard Natasha say nice things about you, so you’re already leagues ahead of this asshole in my book. Lemme just grab my stuff.”

TJ doesn’t bother trying to resist the urge to kick Falzone as they leave. Once in the shin – “that’s for being an asshole!” – and once in the shoulder – “and that’s for being a fucking homophobe!” 

***

A few hours later, TJ and Clint are sitting on the patio of a restaurant overlooking a lake somewhere in Vermont. There’s a huge plate of onion rings in front of them, and TJ’s halfway through his burger. He’s possibly going to regret his choices next time he steps on the scale, but times like this call for comfort food. 

Plus going on the run probably burns lots of calories, right?

Clint is great company, actually. He’s quick-witted, has a biting sense of humor and is resourceful as hell. They’d had to get rid of all traceable tech – TJ had grumbled when Clint had made him hand over his StarkPhone until Clint had assured him “I will personally see to it that Tony Stark sends you a new one” just before chucking it, a bit too gleefully, out the window on FDR Drive, where it was undoubtedly smashed into a million pieces seconds later by the cars speeding along. He’d somehow procured a portable TV, the old-school type with a rabbit-ear antenna, so TJ had spent most of the drive up monitoring the TV and radio news channels for any indication of what was going on in DC. There wasn’t any.

“What do you think they’re up to?” 

Clint looks up from absently chewing on his fingernail, the remnants of his burger seemingly forgotten. Clint’s got to be at least as worried as TJ – not only is Natasha his best friend, but Fury was his boss. Whatever’s up at SHIELD is definitely going to have ramifications for his job.

He shrugs, but TJ suspects there’s something he’s holding back. “Last I heard, last night, they’re safe and they’re doing more recon. Apparently Hydra’s not as gone as everyone thought it was. It runs deep, Nat says, in all the agencies.”

TJ sucks in a breath. That must have been a kick in the gut for Steve to have to hear – the group he’d thought was long gone, that he thought he’d taken down when he went into the ice, still around and spread out through the government.

“Shit.”

Clint nods.

They finish their meal in silence, the background chatter of the portable TV and a few birds flying over the lake the only sounds.

“... to bring you this breaking news,” the news presenter on the TV announces, and both whip their heads around towards the little screen. “Captain America and his associates have been spotted in downtown Washington DC. SHIELD agents are on site to bring them in. This is live footage.”

The shaky video, taken from a helicopter, shows a chaotic scene. It’s hard to make out what’s going on, and TJ’s stomach swoops as he tries to find Steve. There are people running to get out of the area as the newscaster warns “If you are in the area, stay indoors. This is an active gunfire situation.”

A swarm of agents in black is converging around a shooter near a bridge, and on the right, a figure with a massive gun is aiming at a car. 

TJ’s heart stops when he sees another figure running towards the man with the gun – he knows that run. And there it is, the unmistakable form of Steve’s shield, stripes shining brightly in the sun as Steve brings it up and the man _stops it with his metal arm_.

“What the fuck?”

“Shit. So he is real.”

TJ’s barely listening, too focused on the fight on the TV, where Steve and this bionic man are having it out _hand-to-hand_. Just shoot the bastard! TJ wants to shout, as if Steve could hear him. 

“They call him the Winter Soldier,” Clint is saying. “Nat told me about him, she had an encounter with him once. Shit, they say they only bring him in for the real nasty jobs.”

The Soldier grabs Steve by the throat – TJ feels his own breath catch – and tosses him over a car. It almost looks like … TJ is afraid to think it, because that might make it true, but it almost looks like this Winter Soldier might have Steve bested. He’s definitely on the defensive, barely getting any hits in. But then Steve gets his shield back and the tables turn.

Until Steve just … stops fighting. He’s just standing there, shield in hand but not in any sort of defensive position, not moving.

The Soldier raises his gun and TJ lets out an anguished “No!”, but he swallows the sound as a guy _with wings, what the hell?_ swoops in and kicks the Winter Soldier in the head.

“Run!” TJ implores the little figure on the TV that is Steve, but he doesn’t. The Winter Soldier brings his gun up again, but this time a giant missile is fired at him – must be Natasha, judging by the hair.

“Run, you morons!” TJ repeats, but Steve is still just _standing there_. And then SHIELD agents are moving in, surrounding them, and TJ’s heart is pounding so fast, and why the hell is Steve not moving? An agent raises an automatic weapon to Steve’s head, and the big idiot’s just got his hands raised.

TJ’s hand slips from where he’s been clutching the wooden table, his palms wet with sweat. _God,_ he doesn’t think he can stand to see this, but he doesn’t dare to take his eyes off the screen.

The agent lowers his gun. Thank _fucking_ God. Now they’re leading Steve and Natasha and the guy with the wings to an armored car, shoving them inside roughly. The cars drive off, and that’s where the news feed ends, cutting back to the studio.

TJ sucks in a breath, and another. The air burns in his lungs, like it’s too much but not enough. He gasps again.

“Easy, TJ, count to three, breathe again.” Clint’s hands are warm, almost too warm, but the contact is grounding. Slowly, TJ regains control of his breaths.

He nods his thanks to Clint, rubs a hand over his face.

***

If he had his phone, he could call up his mom’s office and find out what the fuck is going on, or where Steve is being taken. His family is probably shitting bricks about where TJ is, what with him and Barton being on the run and all, not to mention the concerts he’s missing. He itches to make the call – the restaurant is bound to have a phone he could use, maybe – but he pushes that urge down. That would give away their location, and considering what they’ve just learned about Hydra, that’s not a risk he’s willing to take. There’s no way of knowing who is Hydra and who isn’t – TJ is pretty sure none of his family are, but he wouldn’t be surprised if that fucker Falzone or ex-veep Collier turned out to be Hydra.

So all they can do is wait. Wait and hope for something to show up on the news, some new information rather than the four-hundred-millionth replay of Steve fighting the Winter Soldier.

 _No news is good news,_ the pastor at the church near the Hammond Estate in North Carolina used to say. Maybe he was right? Last they saw of Steve, he was being taken into custody. News could mean he’s being charged with something, news could mean there was a fight he couldn’t punch his way out off–

TJ needs to stop this line of thinking. Nothing good lies down that path.

Thank fuck for Clint Barton, he thinks as he sees the man reappear with – _holy shit_ , is that a deer slung over his shoulder? He’d left TJ half an hour ago at their makeshift campsite in the forest with instructions to “stay out of trouble while I go find us some grub”. Sure, the guy had a bow and arrow, and TJ had seen enough bow hunters with deer strapped to the hoods of their trucks back in North Carolina, but he’d expected it to take a lot longer. Or for him to come back with something smaller, easier – maybe a rabbit?

Getting the deer cleaned up and a fire built is a great distraction, it turns out. Even if it’s disgusting as hell, but Clint makes quick work of it. They roast the meat on a makeshift spit, and it almost feels like a rugged backcountry camping trip. If not for the “fugitive boyfriend, rogue Nazi organization infiltrating the government” part.

***

Breakfast the next morning is cold venison steaks and foraged blackberries, but TJ’s appetite disappears pretty quickly when the news breaks. There’s a battle going on at the Triskelion, and at first it’s unclear who is behind it, but TJ knows before the news confirms it: _Steve_.

The airspace over Washington is closed quickly, so there’s not a lot of footage for the news channels to show. Instead they just replay, over and over, the same bit of footage filmed by someone using a smartphone from across the Potomac. It’s grainy and far away, and all TJ can make out is some planes trying to take off and getting blown up. Way in the back, it looks like the guy with the wings is there too. ZNN has overlaid an audio recording over the footage - Steve had made a speech over SHIELD’s intercoms to rally the troops.

“The price of freedom is high, it always has been, and it’s a price I’m willing to pay.”

Steve’s words ring in TJ’s ears, TJ’s heart pounding like it’s about to burst.

Fucking _Steve_ and his fucking martyr complex. TJ has half a mind to hop in the truck and floor it down to DC before Steve gets himself killed so that he can strangle the guy himself. 

“Easy, buddy.” Clint’s voice calls him out of his thoughts, and a warm touch on his hand makes him realize that he’s pulling at his own hair. “You’ll be glad for every last follicle soon enough.”

TJ takes his hands off his head, shoves them in his pockets for lack of a better option of what to do with them. 

“Idiot’s going to get himself killed again, trying to save the day.” His voice catches as he says it. 

“Come on, Hammond,” Clint says, giving TJ’s shoulder a pat before he stands up and starts gathering things. “Shit’s going down in DC, and after it’s done, Nat and Steve’re gonna need backup. Better hit the road.”

TJ nods and follows Clint’s lead, rolling up the blanket they’d been sitting on. He takes another glance around the makeshift campsite that has been their home of sorts for the past two days. He won’t miss it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus scene snippet:  
> Sitwell: Whatever your op is, bury it. This is level one. Contact DOT. All traffic lights in the district go red. Shut all runways at BWI, IAD and Reagan. All security cameras in the city go through this monitor, right here. Scan all open sources. Phones, computers, PDAs, whatever. If someone tweets about this guy, I want to know about it.  
> Sharon Carter: With all due respect, the man just told the world he's bisexual yesterday. _EVERYONE_ is tweeting about him.


End file.
